


Of Power and Blood

by Kiah_Trickster



Series: Fire and Blood [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2020-12-23 18:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiah_Trickster/pseuds/Kiah_Trickster
Summary: Set after s7. Daenerys pursues a way to break the sorceress' curse while facing the army of the dead and trying to claim the kingdoms of her birthright. But help may come from unlikely places, and her loyal guard may have more power than he knows. Jorah and Daenerys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on fanfiction.net and is the first of two stories, the second will be Of Fire and Fury; and will be posted later.

Daenerys stood in the chamber Jon had given her, toying with the idea he had put in her head. As a Queen she needed an heir, but as a woman, and someday as a wife she wanted a child. Her pulse pounding as the man stepped into the room. Samwell Tarly was not a maester, but he was a man Jon trusted, he was well read and had just returned from the citadel; though he looked uncomfortable just now.

“Do you know anything of blood magic?” She asked quietly, Jon had told her that Sam knew of what had happened when she dealt with the Lannister’s army, he’d also told her what Lord Tarly had done to his eldest son. She did not regret what she had to do in war, knowing what the man had threatened to do to his own son did not give her any more cause for sorrow. 

Still a part of her was surprised he’d agreed to see her, let alone help her. But Jon had made her wonder, made her curious enough to seek out an opinion; and there were only so many who would even consider what she had to say.

“A little, most of it is nonsense, herbs and plants used to make people believe they’ve been cursed; some poisons too.” Sam started, Daenerys only nodded, of course he would dismiss it; anyone would. While the Dothraki feared the blood magic of those they enslaved they avoided talking about it, avoided learning about it out of fear. “There are a few documented cases of magic, maesters were unable to explain them but I’d guess more often than not it is a trick of some sort.”

“What documentation?” She questioned.

“I have some scrolls, I brought them up here. On the wall we saw things no one said were real, but they were and now we are facing them. Legends and myths, stories told to children, but a maester a long time ago believed they were real enough to write them down. Blood magic is no different, we fear it because we do not understand it, but some have also written about it, I haven’t read all of it…”

“Does it say anything of making a woman barren?” Daenerys asked softly, others may question her belief; but she had not carried a child since she lost Rhaego; she had not taken precautions. Her way of testing it perhaps, of hoping that she was wrong. “Of anything that can be done about it?”

“I will try to find out. Can you tell me when it happened? What happened?” He studied her. Daenerys took a steadying breath and told him about that time. “Did she give you anything?”

“I don’t know.” She whispered, Jorah had been there, but she knew that he would not have watched.

“I’ll find out what I can.” Sam murmured.

Daenerys nodded, now her focus needed to be on the true reason they were in the North. News was filtering in from throughout the seven kingdoms; Varys’ birds were flying and Jon’s friends from the wall had come south; it was past time for all of them to meet.

They had breeched the wall; the dead were coming, but so were mercenaries from Essos. The reports from Varys’ informants were disheartening, they had sailed North to meet with Jon Snow’s forces and fight the war that was coming. But Cersei’s truce was a farce and the southern army was not coming to help them, if they came at all it would not be to their aid. The wights and the Night king had breached the wall at Eastwatch by the sea and had begun marching south.

Ser Jorah had stood silently in the shadows of the room as they discussed the information that had made its way North, his presence was reassuring for her. Westeros had been his home, he may have spent the last years in exile, but he knew more of this place, and these families than she did. He had come here for her and he had come back to her; after everything that had happened between them and to him.

The meeting ended and as everyone began to slip away Jon put a hand on her arm; drawing her to the side. Jorah glanced to her before he slipped out, Jon wanted to talk to her alone; she trusted him. The meeting was a blow, but what Jon shared in private left her reeling and she stepped back from him.

They had been together, she cared for him, but he was family; that he was her nephew. He’d been given proof and given how her dragons had responded to him she could believe it. A memory of Viserys’ cruelty crept through her, he had been the only member of her family she’d known; Jon was so different.

He was brave and kind, stubborn and loyal, all traits she had admired, she had begun to love. It soured what they had shared, yet as she looked at him, she did not want it to change their friendship; this was a man who believed in his people.

“Daenerys, I’ve sworn fealty to you; and I will help you. We don’t have to tell anyone else of this, Sam and Bran won’t; we can trust them. We need to focus on the war ahead.” Jon reassured her quietly and she believed his words; if the man would lie a little it might have helped them in King’s Landing. “I don’t want the Iron Throne, I will support you.”

“Your Northern lords may feel differently.” She murmured.

“You have no idea.” He sighed and paused as there was a knock on the door.

She called out a greeting and Jorah stepped into the room. “With respect Khaleesi, there is something I might suggest. I know the coasts quite well, I grew up on Bear Island and I spent some time in the East before I left Westeros; that land is sparsely populated.”

“Go ahead, please.” She stepped aside, relieved at Jorah’s interruption and Jon nodded eagerly as he stepped towards the map spread across the table.

Jorah indicated the location where the Night King’s army had last been spotted. “If we could delay the Night King’s army, we might be able lower their numbers before we have to face them.”

“How?” Jon leaned over the table, his eyes scanning the terrain indicated on the map, Daenerys shifted closer, she had always counted on Jorah’s advice; but never seen him giving it in a place that he knew.

“This river creates the narrows, it hasn’t frozen yet and it will keep their army on a direct course that we can control.” His eyes rose subtly to hers, she knew how he intended to ensure the river didn’t freeze. “The Night King will stay with them, meaning Viserion will be with them and he must be destroyed.”

Jorah’s voice softened at the last words, and she felt her heart tighten; she hated to think of her dragon as that horrible thing’s slave. “It is too dangerous for us to use your dragons until we know Viserion is gone. There is an old watch tower, it is abandoned and crumbling; it was built to guard the shale caves. The land above them is like glass; it shatters with any weight.”

“How do you intend to use this terrain?” Jon asked following Jorah’s indications.

“Those caves have been used by poachers targeting the Islands for many generations, I used to be thankful we didn’t have them on the West coast. Shale is wet rock; it splits when exposed to heat. Rock slides are common, if we drive them over that pass, we have a chance at eliminating Viserion and destroying a portion of their army. Hemmed in by the sea on one side and the river on the other they will have no choice but to march on until the caves fill with bodies or retreat; lay a bed of coals in the caves and the ground above will collapse. Put every archer we have on the Southern side with dragon glass arrow tips and tell them to aim for the white walkers. Put your best marksmen in the tower with dragon glass bolts.”

“If we can eliminate Viserion we could at least consider bringing the other two dragons into play.” Jon jumped in and as he began to plan Jorah glanced to her. “We could use the catapults and other siege works on the West side of the river; avoid losing men.”

Daenerys nodded and watched as the two began to plan for the battle, in this war guerilla tactics were their best bet, to keep the army of the dead as far north and away from communities which could add to their number and to preserve the lives of their own men. Jon confirmed that the river had not frozen, wide and deep it was always one of the last to freeze over; to be sure he would arrange scouts to watch it even as they mobilized to head east.

As they planned how to make it work, she listened, it was good; it was better than anything they’d had so far. And Jorah thought about how to preserve the lives of their men. They had to win, and they had to come away strong enough to face the fight the South would bring when they were weak.

But as she listened, she winced, her head ache had returned, as time passed, they became worse and she knew the nightmares would come tonight. It scared her more than a little, but she said nothing, no one could think her weak; or that she might go mad like her father. Right now, she could not think about that, they had very little time to prepare and every moment counted.

“You will need to speak to Lady Mormont about that.” Jorah murmured, she heard a little sadness in his voice; Jon had suggested attacking from the sea; the Mormonts were used to living on the water.

“We will do that.” She offered him an out, it could not be easy to be back here, he’d once told her he longed for home; but she wondered if being here was any comfort. A child stood at the head of house Mormont and she knew him well enough to believe he felt responsible for the burden placed on such young shoulders.

“I will take some men and ride east, we will take shelter under the cliffs and begin work; it is going to take some time.” Jorah murmured.

“I’ll send scouts to check the river and ask Bran to do a fly over on the army again.” Jon nodded to both of them and then glanced back to her. “I’ll go with you to speak to Lady Mormont, she’s than pleased that I’ve bent the knee.”

Daenerys nodded, she was looking forward to meeting the young Lady Mormont, she couldn’t help being a little curious about her loyal advisor’s family. Within the hour both Jorah’s team and the scouts were preparing to ride out and she went to meet with the young Lady of Bear Island; even with Jon’s introduction the girl was clearly skeptical.

However, she was willing to support the war effort and offered her own men who were used to being out on the bay for the attack by sea. Daenerys could admit that she liked the child, she was strong, and she did not flinch as they spoke of war; she wanted to fight for her home.

“How did you know of the tower? Of the caves?” Lyanna Mormont studied them for a moment before looking back to the map before them. Bear Island was situated in the bay on Western coast, the large island was densely forested and sparsely populated, but the East Coast was rocky, difficult ground; the waters rough.

“Your uncle, Jorah is in my service.” She watched for the girl’s reaction, she was not sure if they had met yet. “He has taken a crew to begin work in the caves.”

“My cousin.” Lyanna murmured. “He is my cousin, not my uncle.”

“He is important to me, whatever he did before, however wrong it was; I do not believe he is that man today.” The girl did not know him, not the way Daenerys did; of course, she would judge him by the stories she had been told.

“If you believe that then how well do you know him?” Lyanna looked at her, a secret in her eyes and Daenerys frowned, caught off guard.

The young girl slipped away, flanked by her maester and advisor as she went to inform her men of their part in this war. Daenerys took the moment alone to rub her temples, this was the worst possible time for her headaches to be a distraction; everything hinged on the battles to come.

**…**

With no time to spare they had teams working around the clock, every bit of dragon glass that had been mined was fashioned into weapons; hundreds of arrows were made. Siege works from all across the north rolled east; being stationed along the west side of the river. Their soldiers camped along the river and the rocky beaches, in the shadow of the cliffs as scouts patrolled the river’s course.

They destroyed a bridge once their men crossed, eliminating every route across the river, except for on the back of a strong horse, but even that was risky. Men camped in the tower, fires burning and a man always ready with the heavy bolts; one of the men from the Night’s watch had brought the powerful weapon down from the wall. It was their best chance against Viserion and the giants, they had spears tipped with dragon glass and staffs wrapped in oil rags; their two best defenses.

Jorah spent most of his time near the caves, they had piled dry wood, drenched in oils and fats, whatever was at hand, almost five feet high for the length of the underground passage. At the first sight of the army it would be lit; any wights that stepped onto the ground above would plummet into the fire.

“Ser Jorah.” A familiar voice called to him from the mouth of the cave, he had been placing the small and precious pots of wildfire they had managed to acquire at intervals through the wood.

He backed out carefully, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the daylight again; he hadn’t dared carry a torch with him. “Samwell Tarly.”

He offered his hand, he owed this man his life and it was not something he would soon forget. He shouldn’t be surprised to see the maester up here, he belonged to the Nights watch after all.

“You look well, Jon said you were the one who planned all this.” The young man gestured to the rocky hills, hidden behind them was the bulk of their strength; all they could do now was wait.

“I am well, thanks to you.” Jorah studied the young man, Sam was a man of the Nights watch, and a talented young maester, his own health a testament to that; but he wondered if the young man might be better suited tending the wounded.

In this war there was the grim reality that as soon as a man died, he must be burned, lest their enemy gain another soldier. That meant everyone not able to fight was tasked with dragging the wounded and the dead back from the line; the young maester might serve better there.

“I brought you something.” The young man held out a sword belt that had been slung over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the camp, but this might do some good, Jon says Valyrian steel can destroy wights, I would be honored if you would use it.”

Sam fumbled with the weight of the belt and Jorah reached out, grabbing it before it fell. It was a fine sword, a sword meant for battle; but not for him. “This is your family’s sword, it should be with you, or your kin.”

“No, my family is gone, my father and brother burned at the battle in the south. But they washed their hands of me a long time ago, it was meant to be here, just like you and I are.” The young man spoke with conviction and Jorah pulled it from the sheath, it was a good weight and well balanced. “I want it to do some good.”

“Thank you.” He murmured. “Whatever happens to me, make sure you get it back.”

Sam rode away, presumably down to the camp and left him looking at the weapon; he’d seen what a Valyrian sword could do first hand. He had a pair of daggers made of dragon glass, but a sword was an advantage; he’d been swinging one since he was old enough to hold it. His father had seen to that, he sighed, he’d thought of coming home often in the years since he’d left; he hadn’t expected it to be like this. In truth a part of him had never really believed he would see Westeros again.

Yet he was here, and if he closed his eyes, he could see the outline of his home through the fog; he was standing on land he’d walked as a boy, trying to keep up with his father’s long strides as they traveled towards a battle; a different war. And he was preparing for battle again, a war they had to win.

Suddenly a distant shriek split the air, a sound he knew all to well; anyone who spent enough time around the dragons would. But this time it sent a chill up his spine and sent him running for his horse; he could already see the smoke signal coming from the west; the army was approaching.

Jorah tied his horse to the post and climbed the steep rocks quickly, into the tower and up. Already the men scanned the sky, trying to spot the dragon; he looked for the army. And had to swallow hard, he’d seen them once before, but this was different, they marched for as far as the eye could see across a wide stretch of land from sea to riverbed.

Steeling his nerves, he watched their approach, his eyes roaming up as the dragon’s calls drew closer; the signal from the tower would begin the battle. It was his call to make, but suddenly a fire ball burst from the darkness of the bay, and he cursed under his breath as it flew west until it struck the beast; flying above the army.

“There!” Men called and even as they spun their heavy weapon to take aim the men of Bear Island fired again at the dead dragon.

Dread gathered in his throat as Viserion wheeled towards the bay, balls of fire rained from the sky and many struck the dragon; many more dropped into the vast ranks of wights beneath it. The flame it breathed was terrible blue and blasted across the rocks sending smoke and rock flying; striking some of its own wights.

Jorah gave the signal and black smoke billowed from the tower, the army was nearly on top of them now. But he lingered a moment at the top of the tower, watching the dragon swoop over the water as the Mormont boats danced low across the water; one just barely missed the dragon’s icy flame. Bolts flew from the tower, deep blue dragon glass glinted at the tips as flame consumed the shafts; all trying for the same thing.

The beast howled and its wing caught fire, for a moment hope rose inside of him. If the dragon was consumed in flame the Night king would be as well; this would be over before it truly begun. But it twisted back to shore, firing a last blast at the boats that had targeted it and made land.

Their bolts struck it, but it clambered across the ground, crushing wights as its master drove it on; in horror he realized where it was going. Blue fire burst from its mouth, across the river, freezing what was in its path; wights began to pour west across the ice. Across the river that was meant to be their protection.

“Ser Jorah!” A man called as he started for the stairs, drawing him back to look in amazement as the land just south of them fell away, smoke billowed up and wights dropped into the green flames of wildfire. It worked. They had stopped the march south, and the archers on that flank took up the fight with vengeance.

He climbed down from the tower and pushed his horse hard through the shallow waters, past the flaming cavern that continued to consume the wights that stumbled into it and up onto the southern line. Viserion’s blue flames destroyed siege works but he could no longer see the Night King on his back.

“Light a barrel.” He ordered, stepping to the lever of a catapult and adjusting the target. He waited a long moment and then released the lever, sending the flaming missile high above the fight before it crashed over the dragon; joined by others along the line.

The creature screamed in agony, as though it was dying again, making his heart tighten as fire spread over it’s back. Suddenly the bright flame of a living dragon cut a path along the river, and his chest tightened more; Drogon soared high above the fight.

Only one would be riding him and Jorah willed her back, she was meant to watch until they had neutralized that threat. But as its brother’s flame poured upon it the creature, the wights surrounding it and the ice on the river melted away. The second dragon followed the same path, destroying a wide swath of wights before turning to the east; swooping away from the battle.

Jorah could not see how many wights had breached the western boundary, but he saw men meet them; defending the siege works. And that had to be enough, the army they faced was vast, they were destroying countless wights and yet more poured forward as though there was no end to them.

Daenerys returned with her dragons, having circled far north she blasted a path through the middle of the army, keeping the dragons high and moving fast. Fear crept into him as the flame poured towards him, towards everyone manning the southern line, but the dragons stopped breathing fire and pulled up, soaring high over their heads, heading for horizon.

She had started a little early, but she had heeded their advice, stay high and make single passes; follow no pattern. The scant hours of daylight faded and soon it was not dark smoke that blanketed them but night itself. Yet the battle wore on, they held their ground, fires burned everywhere as dragon glass arrow heads became prized and flaming arrows traced eerie paths through the darkness.

Everyone was tired yet none gave up, he took over for a young archer who was nearing exhaustion. Barely more than a boy, the young man did not leave the line but took up a torch. Jorah nocked his arrow and held steady for one of the boys to light it, then tipped it up; there was little aim involved. He simply pointed it north across the ravine that still burned with wildfire; the occasional wight stumbled in trying to avoid their arrows.

Again, and again they filled the sky with arrows, he felt a surge of pride as the men at sea launched their fiery barrels of oil at the giants, in the field that they could see only one remained upright and three ships were targeting it now.

Hour after hour passed, he reached for arrows mindlessly until someone grabbed one from his hand. Jorah turned to look back, a young girl stood behind him. She held out a canteen, and he took it gratefully. “This whole line is changing out, you should go back to the camp.”

“I’ll stay.” He said firmly, his body begged for rest but there were men who needed it more; nodded to the young man who had been lighting his arrows. He’d known long battles before, many of the young men here were children; this was their first. “You go on, we may need you back up here before too long.”

The boy took off all to eagerly and Jorah took another gulp from the canteen before offering it back; the girl didn’t take it but reached for the one strapped to his side. He nodded in thanks and switched them out, it might be winter, but it was all to warm up here, his skin was covered in soot and ash from the fires and he had lain his heavy cloak over his saddle for fear of lighting himself on fire with a misstep. As he reached back again for an arrow the girl stepped forward; taking the torch that had been left behind.

“You’re the only one who didn’t leave the line.” She observed, holding the torch to the tip of his arrow. “What house do you belong to?”

“I don’t belong to any house.” There was a very good chance he had stood beside his own kin at one point or another tonight. “You shouldn’t be up here, we’ve enough men without putting children on the line.”

“Has a wight made it past that yet?” The girl glanced towards the ravine that still threw smoke and green flame.

“Not yet.”

“Then I’m safe enough, the men need to work in shifts if we are to hold the line.” She spoke with authority only dimmed as she tipped her head up to watch the dragons make another pass; awe written across her face.

He watched as well, he saw a spear fly up, but it went wide. Drogon responded easily to his mother and changed course, both dragons disappeared out over the sea unharmed. The girl said little more but stayed with him for a time, expertly lighting his arrows.

Dawn broke, though the heavy smoke made it hard to tell, made it hard to breathe too but it meant they were holding on. There was a lull on his side, the wights seemed to realize they were stuck and so the men rested for a little while. Jorah intended to join them for a moment, his arms ached when he picked out a distinctive figure in the formation and quickly reached for an arrow.

“Do you see that one, with the blue skin?” He pointed it out to the girl as he fastened one of the few dragon glass arrow heads he had left onto the tip.

“Is that the Night King?” She followed his gaze.

“No, but it is a white walker. They are the ones we need to destroy.” And if he could make the shot, he would make his point.

Holding for a moment he watched the smoke billow up and then loosed the arrow; watching its path. He glanced to the girl with a wince as the arrow pierced the white walker’s skull; it was violent business for a girl. But she had been on the front line for over an hour, she’d seen violence and she gave a little nod as it struck true and gasped as a large section of the western flank crumbled to the dust and bone. “Those are what we want to hit, watch the field and tell me if you see more.”

She nodded, and encouraged volleys came from the east and the west, arrows and flaming barrels of oil crashed into the sea of the dead. Suddenly another group of wights collapsed to dust without warning, though they destroyed many of them the narrows was still full of the creatures, tens of thousands of them; yet on a far hill he thought he could see an end to them. A group of horses stood, outlined on the horizon, he would lay money that it was the Night king and his generals watching the battle.

This was not the battle to win the war, they were still badly outnumbered, but they had eliminated some of the Night king’s strongest weapons and proved to themselves, to their men that this was an enemy that could be beaten back. A group of men approached from the camp, they couldn’t be called fresh but at this point no one could and took over the line.

Jorah handed off his position, he needed a better view of the battle field, and then he needed to see what the western flank looked like. He took his horse down to the bank and into the water, not wanting to risk the shore in case any wights decided to try the rocks.

As he rode past the enemy ranks his eyes roamed up, he did not understand what compelled these creatures to fight, or what magic bound them to the white walkers. But as he approached the tower, he heard a distinctly human, living human shout and saw a man dragged from the base of the tower.

Climbing and scrambling up the cliffs he glanced to the fire they had lit at the entrance, had the tower been breeched? Drawing his sword, he cut a path into the wights, they clambered over each other to attack the man they drew deeper into their ranks.

However, he noted that while these wights were disfigured, they hadn’t been dead long; they were wildlings. Only then he realized it was Tormund they had, the wildling who had gone north with the party from Eastwatch; brought the news down from the wall. It was very possible the wights trying to kill them had been men that man had known, men his own father had fought; Jorah pushed it from his mind as he forced his own path forward.

He didn’t dare look back to see how far they were from the tower, each step meant it would be harder to get back. His sword sliced through the skull of one and cut another in half before he swung it up and sliced off the arm of the wight that pulled Tormund down; a beast bigger that the wildling himself. But under the Valyrian blade it fell, finally in the sleep of death.

The wildling stumbled forward as Jorah whipped around, he felt the man hit him, using his frame to regain his balance. For a moment their eyes locked, his father had spent years trying to gain control of the wildlings beyond the wall; had lost his life beyond that wall. He and the wildling had come damn close to dying side by side once already, it wasn’t going to happen today.

On his feet again Tormund took up weapons from the ground and step by step they edged towards the fire until a hand grabbed at him. Hauling him into the safety of the tower, Jorah leaned against the stones warmed from the fire and took a steadying breath, Tormund met his eyes and nodded slightly.

What would his father think of this? It had been so many years since he had spoken to the man he didn’t know, had he come to see Jon Snow’s way before his death? Had he seen the threat they faced? Jorah could never ask him now, he could never put that right and it did no good to dwell on it; the wildling fought with them. After a few moments he accepted more water from the men who guarded the base and some bread before climbing the steps to get a better view of the field below; it was the only break he would get.

“What do you think?” The wildling had followed him up. “Hell of a lot less than when we started.”

“They all have to be destroyed.” He sighed, this wasn’t a war that could be won with survivors swearing fealty to their Queen. Was it a kindness to send what was left of these men to the peace of death, or simply a matter of survival? Either way the tide was turning, and an eerie sound had the wights beginning to fall back; perhaps the Night King did not intend to mindlessly sacrifice them. “We need to head west, it is time for the Dothraki to help.”

The Dothraki were held in reserve, likely feeling impatient by now, armed with dragon glass blades they would cut through the rear of the troops. He knew from first hand experience how effective they could be as row after row of powerful horses and fearless warriors hit with force. They were not to push deep into the ranks, only to keep them moving and thin out the flanks where they could; a unit of Unsullied would follow to take care of any who fell.

Tormund rode with him as they swung south of the battle and around, crossing the river to ride up the western flank. They passed the waste where Viserion had destroyed siege works and men, and the bones of wights that had made it across before they were slain; any of their own dead had been pulled from the bones to be burned.

The wildling left him for a group of his own archers and Jorah continued to ride North looking for Jon, his eyes occasionally scanned the sky for any sign of the dragons. Suddenly a scuffle caught his attention, some wights had fallen near the shore, the cries of a girl had him turning his horse into the river. But his irritation dampened a little as he realized who was caught in the ranks this time, it was the Northern king; and the man had killed yet another white walker.

Not all the wights surrounding the young man belonged to it, as some disintegrated others attacked, and the man fell. The young man was supposed to be the King of the North, he was going to get himself killed at this rate. First beyond the wall and now across the river, kicking his horse hard to fight the water Jorah swung down and drew his sword again; it was one thing for a soldier to take a risk, another for a King.

The wights had thinned out here, many already marching North on command, he cut through the ones that were closest, his horse trampled some, charging blindly into the throng. Jorah left the animal, hauling the young man up onto his shoulder he turned back to the river; he wanted to put the water between them and the wights as soon as possible.

But the river was chest deep, and the long battle was catching up to him; he struggled under the young man’s weight. Only a will to live kept him putting one foot in front of the other, glaring at the men on shore who seemed afraid to wade in to help; their eyes glued to their supposed king draped unconscious over his shoulder. None moved, until a young girl broke through, racing towards him; he recognized her as the youngest Stark.

“No!” He shouted but it was to late, the water was up to his chest, it was taking all his effort to keep Jon’s head above the water; he freed one hand to reach for the girl.

Wincing as Jon’s head slammed into his back, the unconscious man limp and heavy but the girl caught hold of his wrist; he saw the fear in her eyes. The water was nearly to her neck, he gripped her tight as they struggled, and Jorah stepped forward; eyes on the far bank. The girl was strong, nearly upsetting his balance as she pulled herself up his arm, there was fear in her eyes. She would have been wiser to push off and try to make it back; he wasn’t sure he could get them to shore.

Suddenly two of the fearful soldiers went flying and the redhaired wildling pushed through. He nearly sighed in relief as Tormund waded towards him; lifting Jon’s weight from his shoulder. “He’s still alive?”

“Yes.” Jorah growled, angry that it was a wildling that came for the man the northerners themselves had chosen.

Free of the weight he lifted girl higher and followed the wildling to shore, it was irony somehow, the bastard and daughter of the man that had once wanted his head had been in his arms in that river, but it was the wildling they all had feared who came to help.

But the girl turned back to him. “Come with us to Winterfell, if you don’t get out of those clothes you will freeze.”

He knew that, he knew it all to well and nodded, glancing back to the battle once more; the Dothraki had begun their assault and the Unsullied marched behind in tight formation. The battle was done for today, and they had won this round. Jorah climbed numbly into the wagon with the Starks and the wildling, he helped lay hot stones around Jon Snow, the man had taken a hard hit and had yet to come around.


	2. Chapter 2

She hurried through the halls of Winterfell, the news had only reached her when she returned. The dragons were tired and had roamed to the south, she hoped they would find a place to rest; she wanted them far away from the army that men still drove north.

But she had heard reports that Jon Snow had been injured in the fighting, they had lost relatively few men while destroying countless wights. She didn’t want to see him among the dead. Daenerys paused as she approached the door, voices argued within; Jon’s younger sisters.

“You can’t blame her, it was her guard who crossed the river to save him; his own men were afraid to wade into the water to help.” That had been Jorah, her trusted advisor was only a step behind her but had said nothing about it. Ser Davos had told her, and when she’d glanced to him Jorah had only nodded that the man’s words were true; he didn’t seem interested in discussing it.

“I don’t trust her, and neither should you; neither should he.” She recognized Sansa’s voice; the Lady of Winterfell’s opinion did not come as a surprise.

“She is here helping us, you didn’t see what we are facing; you don’t know how many of them there are.” The younger girl’s name was Arya, a warrior in her own right; and a determined little thing.

“How is he?” She entered the room, glancing to the man covered in furs and noticed Jorah doing the same though he stayed a few steps behind.

“He was awake briefly, he will live…” Sansa started.

“His going to be fine with rest and warmth, he’s not seriously hurt. The maester gave him something to make him sleep; he didn’t want it.” Arya cut her sister off with a glare and looked at the unconscious man. “He killed several white walkers before they got him.”

Daenerys nodded, the girls didn’t know that he was kin to her, or that her feelings for him were still much more complicated than they should be; the secrets of the past attributed to that. Any desire or romance between them had died the moment Jon revealed their shared ancestry, but she respected him as a leader and liked him as a person; he truly cared for his people.

A commotion in the corridor had them all turning and when Jorah drew his sword, she swallowed hard. He stepped around the door, Arya darted after him. Sansa started after them and Daenerys followed, one glance into the hall had her pulling the young woman back as Jorah caught her eye; handing a dragon glass dagger to the younger Stark. “Bar that door with anything you can.”

His tone held an edge of steel and she heard Sansa’s strangled shriek as a wight charged down the hall; Jorah turned to meet it. Sansa was in shock, but Daenerys knew what the wights were capable of; she locked the door and wedged a chair under the handle. They had to hope it would hold.

They could hear the battle outside but could see nothing; they had no way to know if Arya and Jorah had help or not. Suddenly something hit the door hard and the head of an axe broke through, Jon sat bolt upright; the injured man tried to reach for his weapons. As Sansa tried to soothe her brother Daenerys took a dagger from his things; backing up to the bed.

The axe struck again and again, then the blade of a sword slid between the slats and retreated quickly; for a moment it stopped. Then another took over and a chunk of the wood fell away, a skeletal wight reached through trying to open the door. Sansa’s eyes were full of terror and Daenerys realized she was the only one here who had not yet seen the wights.

They could not see what was happening in the hall, the rotting creature continued to try to reach through the door, blocking any view until it crumbled and brown eyes glanced through at them before turning back to the fight. Arya Stark was a strong young woman, darting around Jorah where he struggled with two wights and down the hall.

Jorah held his ground, dispatching the two he had been fighting and swinging his sword over the girl’s head to shatter the wight she had been about to engage. Daenerys wasn’t sure they had ever formally met before today, but they fought together as if they’d done it for years. Arya was small and fast while Jorah had height and strength, the girl darted around him as aware of his sword as her own weapons and as he trapped the walker’s sword Arya ducked between his body and the wall; her dagger shattered the white walker and the wights that followed it.

She saw a look pass between the two warriors, she wondered if they realized how they looked; though both also looked exhausted. Daenerys had seen Arya Stark on the battle field, the girl had been doing whatever need to be done, Lyanna Mormont had been taking men water and food too; those girls were every bit the warriors the Northern men were.

“How did they get in here?” Jon Snow’s voice was full of anger, he had struggled to his feet; brushing off his sister as he headed for the door. Daenerys, Jorah and the Stark sisters followed him through the passageway into the hall and then the courtyard; watching Jon look up to the wall. “Where are the guards?”

“I had men at the gate, we’ve had so many returning today it…” Sansa began.

“We are at war. The gate, the wall and the towers must be manned at all times. I left men here to see you defended. Where are they?” Jon roared.

The courtyard was strewn with bodies and Daenerys realized a cart she had passed on the way in had been filled with the dead, presumably soldiers who had died of their injuries; it was empty now. Dead strewn across the courtyard, soldiers standing among them, looking warn and sad. A woman held the body of a small child and they watched as Jon went to kneel by her; placing a hand on her shoulder.

They could not hear the words that passed between them, but she recognized the fury in his face as he rose and stalked back to his sister. “Where are the guards I left? Why were the dead not burned?”

“We needed help tending the wounded, and it did not seem right to…”

“That boy lost his father in battle, the man was dead and because you did not burn his body that walker called him from death. His son ran to him and the father tore him apart, his death is on you. I did not leave orders for you to follow if you felt like it.” Jon roared, the reality of what had happened disturbed her. This party of wights must have found a way to follow them here; perhaps they had never been a part of the battle but scouts or raiders. “She will mourn her husband and her only son now. But our enemy still comes. They do not tire, they do not mourn; they come for us all.”

“Khaleesi, kindness goes a long way to win hearts.” Jorah spoke softly by her shoulder. “They are all exhausted, and afraid; they need to hear words of encouragement. And he is hurting.”

Daenerys took a deep breath, he was right; she wanted them to see her as a leader. First, she had to prove herself to them, the first Northerner she’d met hadn’t truly served her until she’d proven herself to him; and now he was the most loyal man she had.

“It is hard to say goodbye to those we love, to those we know.” She began, thinking for a moment of all the people she had lost. “To put their bodies in the fire so soon after losing them is hard for us, but it is a kindness. You know these men, you have fought beside them; you may even call them kin. So, say the words and send them to peace for the wights do not know peace. They are commanded to fight, to fight against ones they once loved, against their home and their very will. Do not undo the memory of your brave warriors by allowing the enemy to take their bodies. They gave everything for the lands and the people they loved, let us give them rest; their fight is done.”

Murmurs and nods met her words and buoyed on the response Daenerys continued; she picked out enough of her own men in the yard to decide. “We will give them rest but we will not forget them. Each body is to be identified before it is burned, Missandei, go with Ser Davos and some men from each house. Before a body is put in the flames take down the name. No one who died here shall be forgotten.”

More nodded and as Missandei stepped up next to Ser Davos men gravitated towards them and someone gave her friend some paper and a quill. She knew it was a gruesome task, but no one would be as detailed as Missandei and she doubted there would be a name her friend could not figure out. Commanding a few of the Unsullied to thoroughly search the grounds, a few Northern soldiers volunteered to help and then a party to scout beyond the wall she saw people begin to relax.

Men took positions in the towers, on the wall and at the gate, Unsullied and Northerner stood side by side. They were all tired and worn but they banded together, the dead were loaded into a wagon and taken to a fire beyond the gate. Others began returning to the camp outside the keep, and Daenerys oversaw as order returned, a rooster for shifts was drawn up; for watch and scouting duties.

The injured were tended and the dead moved away, everyone seemed to understand the reason now. She barely noticed that Jorah had handed her protection over to Gray Worm as she retired to her chamber. She could not fault him, the Unsullied Commander told her he had not left the line all night, moving between the tower and the southern line. Their reprieve would be brief, but they would have to take what they could get.

…

Jorah had been struggling to keep himself alert, keeping his weapons ready as his senses dulled; his body demanded rest. He could have closed his eyes the moment he sat down but instead took the time to clean his weapons, it was strange to be back in the North after so many years in exile.

And yet he was here in a time of war, Jon Snow was not wrong, the wights did not feel the exhaustion that their troops did, the pain of injury or loss. There was no way to know what the next move would be, but when the moment came, they had to be ready; they had to fight for their lives.

The Khaleesi would be safe in Grey Worm’s protection, he would sleep before he spelled the Unsullied Commander; one of them needed to be with her whenever possible. The northern houses did not want her here, they needed her army and they were obeying the king they had elected; but he knew they would not pledge loyalty to her.

Not unless she earned it, and that was a battle she would fight everyday they were here; he would give her any advice he could. The place he had been born and raised was in this kingdom, Bear Island lay on the West coast, and his dishonor had forced the heavy task of its lordship upon a child.

He’d fled into exile with the security that the home he’d failed to keep would be safe in his aunt’s care; they would forget him, and they would live on. He had not thought to see Westeros or the North again, until he had sworn to the Khaleesi, and he wanted to see the world she would build; but that war was for another day.

Jorah slept, his body ached from the battle, bruises had spread over his skin. Rolling his shoulders loosened the tension, he should feel it more, should have felt it after their journey north too; perhaps the treatment for greyscale had numbed his body. He’d never known pain like that before and hoped he would never know it again; but the fighting pits had hurt more.

He strapped on his armour and intended to go find the Khaleesi, but he found Samwell Tarly hovering outside his door. The young man looked exhausted, probably up all night tending the wounded, but Jorah wasn’t sure what he was doing here.

“Is there something you need?” He asked quietly, the man did not hide his thoughts well; he was nervous. “Has there been news from the scouts?”

“No. Well not really, the last was that they were still moving North; Jon think’s they will try to cross the river. That they’re sending out their own scouts.” The man took a few steps forward and Jorah frowned but backed into the room. “I need to ask something of you, it may sound strange to you; it sounds strange to me. I was reading last night, I was looking for something to help…”

“What do you need from me?” Samwell Tarly had risked a great deal to help him in memory of his father; Jorah was not surprised that he was looking for a way to help another.

“Blood.” Surprise must have shown on his face and Jorah turned to shut the door. “Not a lot, not to harm you but, I did not know, the ointment I used on your wounds, it may have other uses. I found it in a book on rare diseases. I didn’t know where it came from, I knew it was dangerous, but it was the only possible way to help you.”

“It worked.” He was not surprised that it was risky, he had been resigned to death in the citadel, he hadn’t intended to see the last stages of the disease; greyscale stole the mind and body before it killed. “If I can help you I will.”

He’d already wrapped his hands, the straps provided grip on his weapon as well as protecting the wrist; he took his dagger and made a small wound deep enough to bleed. Samwell held out a small flask and when he handed it back the young man tucked it away as Jorah bound the wound.

“Thank you.” He left the young man and went to find out what was happening.

There were men out walking the battlefield, dragon glass arrows were being gathered, and scout reports were filtering in. He found Jon Snow studying the map, the young man was trying to predict the next move; he was still hurting. They had one advantage, no one knew this land like the Northern houses, they knew where the landscape would help them and where it would make them vulnerable.

Others filtered in, Jorah shifted a little uncomfortably, he’d known some of these men a long time ago and he recognized some as the sons of those who were not present. A girl walked in, the little one from the line; Jorah swallowed hard as he recognized the men who flanked her.

Time had not been kind to them, they’d been younger men when he knew them; he eyed the girl carefully. He knew in coming back here he’d have to face his past; he was prepared for that. But he swallowed hard as he looked closer at the girl, how had he not seen how much she looked like Maege?

He hadn’t heard of Lyanna until they returned to Westeros, after everything that had happened, he wasn’t truly surprised. She’d lived and died a warrior, she’d lost a lot in her life and he was happy for Maege, she’d gotten a second chance; she’d be proud of her daughter. Proud of how she commanded herself, and of her determination.

…

The knock was soft but Missandei opened it and Samwell Tarly stepped in. She still didn’t know quite what to make of the man, but he was here, and he glanced to her and then to Missandei. “Anything you have to say can be said in front of Missandei.”

“I may have found something, I don’t want to give you false hope; but there were a few mentions.” The man had other things to do, there were wounded men in Winterfell and more battles to come. “It is clearly a lasting condition, so there are only a few possibilities; at least only a few that I can find any information on.”

“And there is something that can be done?”

He nodded and set a cup on the table between them. “It may help, it may help alleviate other side effects if it is right. It will probably taste bad, but it won’t hurt you; I’ve mixed it with wine.”

“What other side effects?” She hadn’t told him anything beyond the fact that she could not have a child.

“These curses can effect the whole body, tailored by the sorcerer to inflict pain on a person in many ways.” The man shifted uneasily as though he wanted to leave.

“Would you allow me to read those scrolls someday?” Daenerys stepped to the table, eying the cup that sat there.

“Of course.” The man slid away and left her with Missandei.

Her friend watched as she hesitantly took a sip from the cup. There was something very sincere about the man from the Night’s Watch, others might hold the past against her she did not see that in Samwell Tarly. He’d scoured his scrolls to find a way to help her, there were many who would have dismissed her words.

The taste was not pleasant, and as she finished it Daenerys began to place it. “I think this is blood.”

“I’ve heard of such things.” Missandei murmured. “In a way it makes sense, blood for blood; though I do not know how it works. But what other ailments did he mean?”

“I’m not sure.” She lied quickly, but those unguarded eyes had told her what Samwell Tarly didn’t say.

No one wanted to speak of the mind, not when it came to the history of the Targaryen line; but before her son she had never had the headaches and nightmares she’d had since. The sorceress had wanted to punish and torment her, playing with her mind as well as denying her a woman’s right of motherhood; it was the woman’s last mistake.

Would this be her chance? If the headaches and nightmares faded would that be her sign? She couldn’t very well test its effectiveness in other matters openly, not without a husband; that matter would require some discretion.

Daenerys left her chambers to join the war council and as she took her spot at the high table, she saw Ser Jorah move from his spot in the shadows, taking a position closer to her, along the wall where he could watch the room. Quickly she focused on the discussion of where to attack, Jon Snow had a plan and many of the men agreed with him, she glanced towards the Commander of her army; he knew these lands as well as the other men here.

His slight nod was her answer as the representatives of each house discussed where they would face the opposing force. Raiding parties would continue to harass and whittle down their enemy’s numbers but the next battle was coming, they could not afford to be caught off guard.

The Northerners wanted to avoid siege, they wanted to protect their families and stop the dead from marching further into their lands. They spoke fiercely, undeterred by the fact they remained outnumbered; they would make a line in the shelter of the mountains. The steep rock formations would prevent the enemy from surrounding them and they would choose their ground, force their enemy to fight up hill to them.

As the meeting broke up, she moved towards Jorah, intending to speak to him about the battle to come; and the man dipped his head to her. Giving her his attention, but she could see he was listening to a side conversation; between the Lady of Winterfell and one of the Lords. Daenerys paused, listening as well, though she faced her guard.

“You were instructed to bring your grain here; your holdfast is empty, but your grain remains there.” Sansa Stark did not sound impressed.

“We paid our taxes and gave of our stores to the previous warden of the North; what we have left will not last our own people the winter. We will return home when this war is over; I cannot let my people starve.” There was frustration in the man’s voice, but also a note of desperation; her guard looked to his feet.

Daenerys frowned and took a few steps, Jorah quickly moved to follow; staying an appropriate stride behind. When they were alone, she spoke softly. “They cannot tax him twice.”

“His men are here, and orders went out for them to bring their grain to Winterfell; but winter is hard in the North.” The man still looked uneasy. “They do not mean to tax him, but they do need to be able to feed his men. It is not easy to be a Northern Lord in a long winter.”

“You were a Northern Lord.” She pinned him with a look.

“Only for one winter, and it was a short one. In the second the white raven arrived only a few months before I fled to Essos.” There was guilt in his voice, he had never denied what he had done; whatever else he had done in the first years she had known him he had never shied from the truth of his crime. And his regret had always shown, even when it mixed with something else. But he looked at her now. “Your grace winter is hard in the North, even in a short winter and this one is not expected to be short. People will starve, many children born in the cold will not live to see summer. Nothing will grow. Men will guard what they have fiercely because it is all they have to see them through; some will become desperate and others will break.”

She frowned, there was conviction in his voice that unnerved her, he was speaking of what he had seen. Of what he had known, it echoed the concern of both parties that they had heard. Lady Sansa was trying to ration grain to feed the whole of a Northern army; and a Lord was trying to hold onto enough to feed his family. “Winter was only a word when I was growing up, the winds were cooler, and the days were shorter, but it never snowed.”

“No, Westeros is further north and the climate is harder. The Free cities call their dry season winter, but it is nothing compared to what we will see.” He looked uneasy, and at her slight nod he continued. “You bring an army to their aid, but your grace you command something far more valuable; especially with winter upon us. The harvests in Dragon Bay will be smaller, but their ships will sail around the world; full of grain and wheat. Dragon Bay is your kingdom, and it is flourishing under the leadership you have installed.”

“Thank you, Ser Jorah.” Daenerys locked her gaze on blue eyes, he was right. Of course, he was right, perhaps he had only led his people for one winter; but he had seen winter here and in the Free Cities.

He’d given her one idea today, but it was books that he had given her many years ago, on their first meeting that gave her a little of her own insight. She’d treasured those worn volumes about her home for a long time, over time she’d read each one. And not a surprise given she suspected those volumes had once been his, whether he took them with him when he fled into exile or acquired them after, there had been detailed information on the Northern kingdom.

There were reasons that the strong and proud Northerners were hesitant to trust any Southern leader; reinforced by her own father. And even now by Cersei Lannister, the North remembered what kings had done to their kin, remembered who taxed them heavily as winters dragged on and those Northern houses bore the worst of it. To unite the kingdoms, she must prove herself different and she must care for the large and sprawling North and make them choose to kneel to her; teach them with more than fire.

As they crossed the courtyard she paused to watch as the young Stark girl trained with the female knight in the courtyard. The young girl was good, and when she finished with the woman Daenerys saw Arya eyeing the man who stood at her shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Lady Arya Stark was good with a sword, albeit a small one; but he knew she could be deadly. Everyday since they had arrived at Winterfell, he had seen her train in the courtyard, often with Brienne of Tarth but sometimes with others, men with years of experience who had been battle tested. She found their weaknesses, and dodged attacks until she saw her moment; and then she moved on. He'd fought with her once, in the corridor of this keep, and yesterday he'd taken his turn facing her. However, beyond Lady Brienne he'd never seen her return to an opponent.

He'd risen early to meet Samwell Tarly; he was falling into a routine with the young maester though the man dodged his questions about what purpose he served. Fastening his bracer again to cover the new mark Jorah cut through the hall, intending to climb the wall, the army would march tomorrow to stop their enemy near the mountains; a winter march was going to be difficult. More so for the men he commanded who were experiencing the cold and snow for the first time and adjusting to the layers of warm clothing needed to survive it.

He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to find the girl standing behind him. Jorah raised his brow slightly as she drew her sword, gesturing for him to do the same. He had no objection to training though there had to be others who would pose more of a challenge to her.

She waited, her sword at the ready and her gaze scanning him; Jorah did not attack. He'd seen her fight, she liked her opponent to strike and then duck under their guard, they stood for a few long moments before she struck. It was not hard for her to be faster; he could easily have a child her age, but he knew the sword and blocked her; making her work to attack him.

Except he quickly realized she was doing a poor job of attacking him, instead it seemed as though she wanted to fight beneath his sword; she was trying to force him to swing and strike high. When she had openings to strike him, she would simply dart past, under his arm or through his swing; terrifyingly close to his blade. And force him to turn to find her.

"My father wanted your head." Arya ducked past him again, her words nearly stopped him in his tracks; but he turned to face her. He did not deny what he had done, and he had known he would wear the shame of it for the rest of his life; even though he now had several royal pardons.

"He did." Jorah blocked her attack and as he moved, expecting a striking blow to follow she darted to the left; nearly passing under his arm.

"You ran rather than tell him the truth." This time her words did stop him, where had she heard that? She was not an innocent little thing who would believe her father would not follow through on punishment, the Starks had faced too much for that. "You didn't want him to hear the truth."

"I've admitted my crimes." The gold had gone into his pocket and the man who spoke had given his name; he knew what he had done was wrong. When he heard the rumors in his own lands, he'd taken his wife and left; word travelled in the North and he'd known Stark would hear.

Lady Arya looked at him for a few moments longer and then slid her sword back into her belt; walking away from him. But Jorah frowned as he saw the girl she met in the archway, the two disappeared back into the keep and left him to wonder what his cousin would know of it. There were a few men on Bear Island who knew the details of those events, but he hadn't seen any of them here; though Winterfell was full enough that perhaps he had simply missed them. Still it was enough to make him uneasy.

"Ser Jorah." A familiar voice jerked him from his thoughts, and he shifted to find his Queen; falling in a pace behind her. "Tyrion wants a council meeting and given the army leaves tomorrow time is limited."

"I will find him your grace." He dipped his head and turned away, given her tone and the hour of the meeting he knew she wasn't thrilled with it.

The hour itself would be a punishment for the Lannister, hopefully he hadn't gotten too drunk last night, unlike some of them the man was not a fan of early mornings. And he had been drinking a lot as of late, even for Tyrion, Jorah suspected it had something to do with his brother's arrival from the south; the king slayer had abandoned his sister. While Jamie Lannister's reasons for coming to Winterfell were accepted, a knight keeping an oath, no one was fool enough to trust him; and it seemed there was still some tension between the brothers.

However, Jorah found the man, and then joined the council in a small chamber, it was informal given their surroundings, but he still found a spot near the wall. He might sit on the council, but he did so out of support for his Queen. He did not fully trust all the members; some he never would and so he watched them.

It was a sitting room table, round and small, meant for sharing meals or friendly discussion more than meetings of any importance. But it served all the same, Daenerys sat at one spot, Varys and Tyrion left some space and sat on the other side while Missandei sat one place away. Tyrion and Varys were in constant motion and he should have known the two were thinking long past the looming battle. They were past the battles with the Southern armies that were sure to follow, they were planning for the throne.

Tyrion's objective was simple, he thought Daenerys should travel south with a marriage alliance already in progress. Assuming a victory in the North the hand to the Queen was betting some of the Southern houses would be eager to align with the Queen; having heard what happened to the Lannister army. He'd never be able to remember the names and connections of the houses the way that man did, especially not hung over, Jorah thought as Tyrion listed off potential matches and the prospective benefits they offered.

As Varys added his insight Jorah watched their Queen, she was listening, but she did not look impressed. "Great houses rise and fall, some stand thousands of years only to vanish to dust. House Tyrell was rich and powerful, but they are gone, house Baratheon fades and the Targaryens conquered Westeros but we only have one left. It is not only the wealth of a house that must be considered. But also, the power behind it."

The spymaster was not someone he would ever trust, but the man was right. Each of them stood here today because they believe in her. They believed Daenerys Targaryen was the one to harness Westeros and claim power, they believed in her ability to rule; they wanted to see the world she would build. And that came from witnessing the woman herself, he had watched her learn to rule, to make the decisions of a leader and become one. She had not simply stepped into the role because it was her birthright, inherited because she was the only one to survive; she had fought for it.

"My husband will join my council; he will have a voice in my court, but he will not rule for me." Daenerys spoke firmly. "I will not take the iron throne only to sit on it as another's puppet."

"Power is a part of any alliance; your marriage will be a symbol of your power." Tyrion spoke quietly.

"My power is my own, my dragons and my armies are the symbols of it. Give me the name of a man who would offer me something?" Her gaze scanned the room.

"Jon Snow." Tyrion replied softly. "He would wed you for security in the North; for his people. He would offer you peace in the largest kingdom."

"And his people would revolt when their chosen leader rode South. Jon Snow has pledged his allegiance, he will be the Lord of Winterfell and Prince of the North, or warden, I will leave that choice to him but I will recognize his influence and leadership here, when Dorne swore fealty their leader was allowed to keep a high title." The words were quick and just a little too prepared; he knew she was trying to win confidence in this region. Jon Snow was key to that.

"I thought you two were getting along." There was a slight barb in the man's words; Jorah frowned, his gaze searching between them.

"Our alliance will be founded upon respect and friendship; we both want a different world. The friendship between Baratheon and Stark held the kingdoms together for many years and likely would have for more had the usurper lived, but with little exchange between the kingdoms. My alliance will be based upon far more, something we are already proving to every Northern house in this war. Westeros is meant to be seven kingdoms united; we will stand together. I will not take the Northern leader responsible for uniting his people south when he wants to be in the North." Daenerys' voice was hard.

"If you do not intend to marry your grace, then you must begin to consider your succession. You are in Westeros, you will claim your throne, but you want to change these kingdoms, to break the wheel, as I believe you said. For it to be truly broken you must plan for the day you are not here to uphold your vision, for it to last far into the future when all of us are gone; you must instill that in your heir." Tyrion rose but when he stopped speaking silence hung in the air.

While he understood the Queen's words, he couldn't help but agree with Tyrion, Jon Show was a good prospect for her. They worked well together and they both wanted the power of their positions for change. He could read her well enough to know that something had changed there, and she wasn't going to be swayed.

"Ser Jorah, are we ready to march?" Daenerys shifted slightly to look at him; changing the topic abruptly.

"Yes, your grace. The men are prepared and are becoming more accustomed to their coats, I've even convinced a few Dothraki to wear some armor." Though that was a very small group he considered it to be a success. "We march with the bulk of the Northern force at dawn, some have already left, transporting the heavier weapons; it will take at least two days depending on the weather."

"You will coordinate the ground attack with the Northern Lords on arrival. I will not land during the battle." Daenerys told him and Jorah nodded, pleased that she did not plan to land. Being difficult to hit would be key as he was sure the white walkers would be watching for their Dragon Queen and her dragons. The dragons were valuable as weapons, but they were precious to her.

…

Daenerys left the council feeling torn, they did not understand her resistance to Jon Snow, and she knew she must seem stubborn to them. But she could not work to build an alliance while betraying secrets, if and when Jon's parentage came out, she hoped it would come from him. It might be challenging for his people, but they had accepted him as a bastard, and he had proven himself to them. In time they would accept him as a lawful son of her brother and Lyanna. He did have Stark blood and he loved the North, which was a good thing for her; she would far rather have him as a friend than an enemy.

However, something else played on her mind, she had watched Arya and Jorah in the courtyard this morning. She had been amused; she had seen the moment her guard had realized the girl had no intention of sparring with him; it looked more like she was training him. Until Daenerys heard her words, those words stayed with her.

She went to find Sam Tarly and took the flask he offered; tucking into her cloak until she had a few moments alone. But it seemed of late that things were happening rapidly, there was little time to think and process. It had felt like time held still on the ship as they sailed to White Harbour as they waited for news from Winterfell and from the wall. She had used that time, she had questioned Varys on many things, the spymaster had served several kings now and he knew more of what happened in the kingdoms than any of the men who wore the crown.

News had been waiting for them and from the time they landed they had been preparing for war, fighting it, and Daenerys had been struggling to find her balance in the North. Jon Snow might trust her, but his Lords and his sisters did not, perhaps that had shifted a little with the events that had happened since, but she had work to do.

She was working on it; she had sent messages to Mereen and the cities in Dragon's Bay, but it would take time to receive a response. And then there was the iron throne, the coming war with the South; Cersei Lannister would attack when they were weak. That woman would not think twice about the price of the war, the money possibly, but not the lives that would be lost, the women widowed, and children orphaned with no one to provide for them.

With the Unsullied and the Dothraki she knew she could face the sell swords; the Lannister army had already met her once; a few houses might reconsider who they wanted to support. But some saw lives as the cheaper cost of war, they spent them and only cared when the men of fighting age were dead and the young boys too. Cersei had already hired sell swords to ensure it took longer, that was not how she wanted to take back her home; kingdoms of starving women and children ravaged by war.

In the privacy of her chamber Daenerys opened the flask and sniffed it before she tipped it back; it was always blood but Sam Tarly did not tell her where it came from. He simply asked if it helped her and said he would bring more. When she'd asked what else was in it, he admitted the wine was only to make it easier to drink. She appreciated that in a way, but she had tasted fresh blood before and that had been much harder to keep down.

Her council was right, she needed an heir and with each day that passed her hope rose; it might be possible. Though she did not know how long this opportunity would last, and that was playing in the back of her mind; she needed to decide on that. The man she married would have power simply by joining himself to her, not to mention whatever he had before, she had come to Westeros believing that a marriage alliance was one of her most valuable tools; but the more she learned the more she questioned. Each man would have his own agenda, these lords bickered among themselves over power and status; which of them would want to let his wife rule? Which one would want to see Westeros changed?

She was not naïve enough to seek love in a marriage, that was not a freedom she would ever have, but she did need trust; her husband would support her vision. Problem was there were very few men who she believed would, many would pay lip service but never believe in her; not if they saw any hint of weakness. Even members of her council, her own advisors would doubt her as they had doubted their previous leaders; well, except for one.

The next morning Daenerys watched as the army marched out, even at a distance her eyes found the man who rode at the head of her army. She would not follow yet; her dragons would cover the ground far faster than the men marching. They would face a hard task and another long battle, but it must be done.


	4. Chapter 4

The weather was fair, as fair as it could be in winter at least, but it was a hard march. They made camp the second day and when the scouts returned Jon Snow summoned Grey Worm and him to the tent. Even though the dead could march without stopping they were well placed; it was not worth trying to continue North. They had good ground, shelter and time to prepare, to waste it for something that might be better would be foolish. Jorah listened quietly as the men discussed the battle lines, he glanced a few times to Lady Lyanna and her advisor; how many battles had the girl seen already?

Then he focused on the map, their archers would take high ground in the rocks, but he wondered if the hard ground would be as much of a deterrent as they hoped. To men it would be, it would be suicide to try and fight up rock faces and steep ground, but they were not facing men who thought for themselves.

"Are there any foot trails through the mountains?" Another voiced a greater concern than his.

"There is, we've already blocked it with rubble and our lines stretch through the foothills without thinning. If we fight together, we will hold our ground and we will hold our lands; let this be the fight to decide it." The man spoke with conviction to be met with just as much.

As he walked with the Unsullied Commander, heading back to their men he did pose one point. "We have the foothills, the mountains will bear watching; we cannot afford to become pinned if they make it through. But it would be much easier to attack a dragon from high ground and that could take as little as one man getting around the archers."

"I will have the rear lines watch carefully." Grey Worm agreed, and Jorah knew the man would watch as well. The Unsullied fought as one weapon in formation, each line had specific jobs, shield wall or spear; fighting shoulder to shoulder; the rear lines would serve as eyes for them.

"Tell your men to keep warm tonight, we'll be out in the wind for all of it." He left the man, continuing out to where the Dothraki camped with their horses. While the cold washed over him like an old shirt he knew this army was still learning to deal with it, they would lose enough men in battle without any freezing to death.

Sleep did not come easy that night, but morning followed and with it the call to arms. In the early light of dawn men donned their armour and took up their positions. Jorah was mounted with the Dothraki and held his horse steady at the top of a rise, looking down the line; watching for when they would be ordered to move.

And then it began, the dead charged uphill and he looked down the line to see them hit the shield wall of the Unsullied, of the wildlings and beyond that he could see nothing; a sea of men pushed against their line. But they held and around him the Dothraki surged forward, eager for the fight. Archers rose from their saddles, men dropped their reins to wield a weapon in each hand, cutting through the wights, man after man galloped into battle until they pushed forward, a few in the line began to turn out. The Dothraki did not fight like the Northerners, or the Unsullied, their blood curdling screams echoed off the mountains as the wights they dropped were trampled beneath the hooves of their horses. They did not hold a battle line and would not; forcing their way through the night army the Unsullied filed in behind them to form a line and prevent any wights from passing to attack from the side.

He swung his sword over and over again, there was no choice but to stay with the mounted riders now; the pushed hard along the flank, slicing through the sea of wights, archers above them fired arrows deep into the mass of the dead, in places the horses struggled forward, stumbling over the dead fallen by the men in front of them.

And some turned wide, thinning out the ranks that marched forward to attack their allies; they could not retreat as more men flowed after them. As a child he and almost every other Westrosi boy had been told stories of the fierce Dothraki screamers, how they could fight from their horses backs and how they wore no armor; now he was in the middle of a horde at war. While he stayed firmly in his saddle, making his sword do the work, the Dothraki stood on their horses' backs, hung from their sides and the horses kept their path, kept enough space that the men did not harm each other; he didn't expect it would ever stop amazing him how they fought.

Time wore on and they were forced to keep turning across the battle field, some pushing deeper and some turning to either side, it was a dangerous tactic but an effective one. He had little perspective of where they were in the field, he could see the army holding the line; but he could not see the end of the line in either direction. His eyes roamed up as well, he was waiting to see the dragons, but his attention was on the wights when he saw the fire; the dragons made their first pass the length of the field. Drogon and Rhaegal breathed fire straight down a line, leaving a wide swath of charred wights right in front of the Northern line; it would give some of the men a moment to breathe as wights tried to stumble through the burning remains to fill the gap.

The dragons disappeared over the mountains, to return from the rear; using short bursts this time before swooping over their heads and the line beyond them. He'd seen powerful siege weapons, and warworks before, but the dragons were something else; deadly and precise. They broke through the far side of the line and Jorah called to the men near him to go past the battle and around the line; they didn't need to limit the dragon's targets by making Daenerys watch for them.

He knew they'd lost men, but as the line opened for them to slide through and he tried to get a count he didn't think they'd lost as many as they might have. The Dothraki extended the line, beginning to turn in on the dead, a battle tactic Jon Snow had suggested given they needed to eliminate all of them. But as their archers and heavy weapons loosed on their enemy he froze.

A flaming barrel flew high and wide, exploding over Drogon's back as the dragon swung up over the mountains. His chest tightened as the dragon pitched and his rider swung on his back. The fire would not harm her, but the debris would, and a fall from that height would kill her. One of the Dothraki, a man he treated as a second followed his gaze. "Go!"

He nodded, kicking his horse hard as he cut behind the line, heading for the mountains. Drogon's screeches echoed and he could not see the dragon for the rocks; he pushed the horse past the line and into the foothills. Only shifting as he heard hooves thundering behind him, he glanced back to see Arya Stark coming from further South; he didn't have time to think. The rocks got steeper, he could fel the horse begin to struggle; but then it startled and tried to shy away. Drogon was close so he swung down and he tied the horse, he could hear the dragon and he struggled to climb as he saw Rhaegal circling over his head. Drogon stood on the rocky ground, the dragon was twisted, trying to look at the woman slumped on its shoulder, not in the seat astride she usually took; somehow her huge son had kept her from falling from his back.

"Easy." Jorah murmured, he had watched as the dragons grew up, from tiny things she cradled in her arms and let ride on her shoulder, until the day he saw her ride one; not so long ago he'd ridden with her. He knew full well how violent they could be, if Drogon wouldn't let him get to her then he wouldn't be able to do anything. "Let me help her."

He swallowed hard as he stepped onto the creature's wing and started to climb its shoulder. Suddenly Drogon shifted and he looked up as Arya Stark sat high on the dragon's back; reaching for Daenerys. That girl did not know what fear was, but she pushed the Queen from the dragon's shoulder and Jorah grunted slightly as her weight slid into him; shifting her until he had enough of a grip to climb down with her.

As he lay Daenerys on the ground Drogon shifted and the young Stark who had been climbing from his back tumbled to the ground; they both watched the dragon take flight. And in unison the two dragons turned back to the battle; he only hoped they sought retribution on the army of the dead and not the men on the catapults.

"She isn't burned." Lady Arya murmured, rubbing her shoulder as she drew near.

"No, but she is hurt." Unconscious, cut and scraped up from where debris from the barrel had struck her, he did not explain the lack of burns; he did not know how much of those stories had come to the North. There were spots where the flames had touched her clothes, but he'd seen her come out of two fires that had burned the clothes from her body; even if the fire had hit her it would not have been as powerful as that.

Jorah did not know how the girl would respond if he told her, he didn't know why she was interested in helping them either; but he would find out. He carried the Queen to his horse and wrapped her in his cloak as they turned back towards the flat lands; towards the camp. He glanced towards the battle still raging North of them and as they approached the camp he glanced to the girl. "Will you find Samwell Tarly?"

The young rider pulled ahead of them and galloped into camp, he knew word would spread fast and he did not know whether this was someone's intent or cross fire. In a battle with thousands of men it was nearly impossible to know, and given they'd struck her he doubted if any would confess; none would have a second attempt.

When they reached camp, Arya had found Samwell and Jorah carried her into his tent; her status deserved more privacy than the wounded would receive at the maester's tent. Jorah did not respond to the comments of how she was not burned, fire would never kill her; but there were more than enough things that could. Jorah stood at the door as the man treated her, carefully cleaning her wounds but he saw the young man glancing at him.

He tried to soften his gaze, his body was on high alert and his hand rested on the sword at his hip; he trusted Tarly. It was the rest of the camp he was not sure of, and right now he was her only guard. Finally, the man rose, and approached him. "I've done all I can, I will come back later to clean the wounds again."

"Thank you." He murmured, watching the man go.

…

Pain exploded in her body and Daenerys whimpered as she tried to move; tried to free her hand from the tangle of blankets. She opened her eyes to the dim light of candles and her body throbbed, turning her head to the side she saw a cloth wall; the heavy material of a tent.

Turning the other way, she saw a familiar figure standing near the door, she licked her lips, her mouth felt like sandpaper she tried to call to him. But a brown-haired girl popped up. "She's awake."

"Your grace." Jorah turned to her and knelt by the bed. "Stay still, you need to stay still and rest."

"Drogon?" She stumbled over her dragon's name.

"He's fine, angry I think but he was not hurt. The battle is over, men have begun returning to camp; the dragons flew south not long ago." He spoke, glancing back as Arya Stark took off; he looked worn and tired.

Sam Tarly came, and she tried not to cry as he tended to her; closing her eyes to block it out. But when he stopped, she heard soft voices. "I will give her some milk of the poppy, but there is something else that might help her; help her in another way. I should have told you before, but I was already asking something so strange and..."

There was a long moment of silence and when Daenerys dared look, she nearly startled, Jorah had unstrapped one of his wrist braces and used his own dagger to cut himself; holding his wrist over the cup. He rubbed his arm, encouraging blood to flow from the wound; Daenerys shut her eyes before either man noticed.

"I was with the march the past two days, she wouldn't have had it then?" Jorah's voice was low and steady, Daenerys swallowed hard; she had known it was blood. She had wondered where he got it, but had it all come from Ser Jorah?

"No, but it was probably good to give your body a break." Tarly told the man. "It is a complicated thing, the only way I can explain it is magic and I know that is really no answer."

Jorah did not reply, and Daenerys lay still, each day that her hope rose he had done himself harm to do it. What made it possible for him to help her? She didn't question why he would, she had ceased trying to explain Ser Jorah Mormont; but she was glad of him.

Sam brought her the cup and Jorah helped her sit to drink it, this time it was not mixed with wine but the strong pain killer; she could not bring herself to look at Jorah. His hands were on her shoulders, careful not to touch the cuts on her back as he held her up and then lay her back gently. There were too many questions in her mind, circling about until she fell asleep again.

…

The Unsullied returned to camp, the Dothraki and the mounted cavalry had picked their way around the scorched battlefield to pursue the remnants of the dead's army. Grey Worm found him at the tent, the man took over guarding their Queen; sending him to the Command tent where Jon Snow and the other Lords gathered.

He stepped into the tent to join the meeting but stepped into a debate instead; it seemed he was not the only one concerned about how the Queen had been struck. For a few moments he stood at the back and listened unnoticed. The Lord of house Karstark declared his men would not have done it while a second argued that it had come from the section of catapults manned by Karstark men. Others chimed in that it had taken aim to hit her, the barrel had been launched higher than the others. Very few mumbled in agreement when a Karstark commander argued that she should not have been flying after the Dothraki pulled out and their archers started; Jorah took note of both.

"Well she wasn't hit with an arrow, now was she?" Jon Snow silenced all of them. "Those dragons made all the difference; they did in seconds what it would have taken us hours and hundreds of men to do. We will have an answer for this, Ser Davos and I will speak to all who manned the catapults."

That comment was met with affirmative nods from all but two, house Karstark and house Umber would bear watching, with the latter's decisions being made by an advisor more than the young lord. The others might not trust the Queen but did seemed at least displeased that she had been hurt by their own side. And they moved on, it was too late in the day to begin the march back to Winterfell and the winds were picking up so they would hold camp tonight and wait for their cavalry and scouts to return.

As the Lords left, he stepped to the side, waiting for the room to empty out, a few men refused to meet his gaze. Jorah frowned, it was the older ones who might know who he was and were more likely to know his past, perhaps it was his connection to the Queen they didn't like; but Jon Snow stepped towards him. "How is she?"

"She will recover, she is resting now." There was little more to say, her wounds had been carefully cleaned and the milk of the poppy should keep her comfortable; the march home was going to be difficult. "She was worried about her dragons."

"They are something." Ser Davos murmured as Jon Snow smiled a little. "But when they landed…"

"They landed?" Jorah frowned, he had guessed they would rejoin the battle, dragons did not take insult well; and Drogon had certainly considered harming their mother an insult. "The white walkers didn't attack them?"

"I don't think the white walkers were there." Jon shifted uncomfortably, moving closer to the map; and moved a piece that they had been using to represent the army. "I saw them at the start of the battle here, but I was never able to put eyes on them again."

He frowned, he hadn't seen that row of ice men overlooking the battle at all today; but his mind had been on other things. They had watched the battle on the lake beyond the wall and at the narrows, some walkers had been in the ranks with the wights; but the Night King and what were likely his commanders had watched.

"How many white walkers does he keep with him? How many wights?" Ser Davos asked, shifted to eyes the map as well, there was no easy way to predict or manipulate the route their enemy took now.

"Four…"

"Three, I got one of them at the narrows. But he may have more." Jon spoke softly, Jorah shifted up to look at the man, seeing Ser Davos do the same; Jon nodded to him. "Craster's keep, it was a place North of the wall that rangers used as a rest point and it was where your father died. Craster married his daughters but he gave his sons to the white walkers as a peace offering of sorts. I haven't seen a young white walker, and an infant would be no use as a wight. The man had a lot of women, he didn't keep any of the boys; where are they? If they are marching south, why leave any behind?"

"Then what is in the south that they want?" Ser Davos asked, they all looked at the map.

"I don't know about you, but my nan used to tell us stories of the long night." Jon did not look easy, but Jorah nodded it had been his mother who told him many of those stories; every child born in the North grew up on them. "Sam's found the same references in old texts. They come south because they hate the living; their magic compels them. But the wights are barely mentioned, we've fought an army of them; there must be a reason the walkers raised them."

"Then there is a reason they've left some behind." Jorah murmured quietly, a war with men was simple in principle, one wanted something another had; they still did not know exactly what the Night King wanted.

"They aren't free folk who came south of the wall for food, for survival; the free folk raised an army to escape the North and the white walkers. White walkers don't need food; they don't care about titles or castles." The white walkers were powerful, they would be harder to track without their army and yet always able to raise another; it would be hard to predict the next move.

"If the legends are true then we better plan to weather a storm." Jorah murmured quietly, one he remembered vividly was of how the walkers brought the winter storms. And each time they fought them the cold winds blew.


	5. Chapter 5

Cold winter winds forced them to hold camp another night, riders and scouts returned having destroyed any wights they could find; though they carried back disturbing news. One party had found a trail going up into the mountains, the tracks of men on foot and horses.

Jorah felt his jaw tense up, by now that trail would be covered in snow, and the bitter winds that they couldn't march into meant there was a very good chance the white walkers had gone around them; having free choice of their route south. That the walkers no longer had a massive army was little comfort; it was decided their army would move at dawn.

Jon Snow had left some men behind at Winterfell, and there would be others injured in the first fight who might be recovered by now, but their fighting men were here; and their enemy was not. He stood a step behind the Queen as they listened to the Lords, she was stronger now, but he knew she was still in pain. It had taken him a little work to convince her to let Jon Snow handle the investigation into that incident, it was one of her first chances to demonstrate to the Northern Lords how she would trust their leader.

In the end she had relented, and Jon Snow had three men executed; others on the line had turned them in and their own words ended their lives. Lord Karstark's advisor had blustered and he'd watched the Queen bristle but, in the end, it was the Northern Lords who supported Jon Snow's orders. Perhaps a small detail, but it was not a foreigner who gave the order. He doubted if that blow struck out those who opposed her, it certainly sent a message as to where North stood; and the direction they were leaning.

Jorah went out with her to check on the dragons who had settled south of the camp; and watched as they crowded to her eagerly. They had been hunting, burned remains scattered the ground; but they were not happy. The dragons did not like snow and had cleared a large area to rest in, he stepped over the edge of the bank to help Daenerys through it.

She reached out to stroke Drogon's snout; the dragon leaned into her hand. "I wish I could take him up, he might be able to find them. We might know a little more."

"We will find them your grace." He knew how much she wanted to ride them, but it was not easy for her to stay on a dragon's back in flight; injured she wouldn't be able to hold on.

"I know." She murmured, moving closer to Rhaegal as he jostled his brother for attention; it only made her smile as she reached for the second dragon.

The hours of daylight were short, and the light had faded as Jorah took a spot near a fire, having turned over guard duty, he joined everyone fighting the cold camp. He shifted as a man joined him from the shadows, Tormund offered a canteen as he took a seat; Jorah took a swig and tried not to choke on it. It was strong and foul, probably something they made themselves.

"The late Lord Commander Mormont would have been horrified at this." The man took a drink himself when Jorah passed it back, waiting to see if there was an insult in that; he knew there was no love lost between the wildlings and his late father. "He hated us, hunted us and ran us from our camps whether we were near the wall or not, but he did one thing right; he saw what Jon Snow was. How did his son end up fighting for her?"

Jorah eyed the man; he was sure a rumor or two had gone around by now. "I was exiled from Westeros; I was told I could earn my pardon watching the last Targaryen; only I started believing in her."

"Your old man wouldn't have liked that."

"No, I don't think he would have." But it was done, and his father was gone; he had shamed the man enough.

Perhaps it was better that Jeor did not live to see him return to Westeros, there was a shameful part of him that was relieved his family had forgotten him when he left, no one wrote to him and so he did not have to write to them; some things he could never think to explain or justify to the man who raised him. And there were others he could not think of for many years.

No matter the choice he had made, either option had been wrong, he simply would have failed in a different way; and family first was something he had been taught all his life. He could never undo what had happened that night so many years ago, at least the secret was his alone now; let others believe what they wanted.

He took another swig of the horse piss Tormund offered, prepared for it this time; and jolted, nearly spitting it out. His hand shifted to his sword as a huge white wolf padded past the fire, glancing at them with little concern; the creatures was bigger than any he had ever seen.

"Take it you haven't met Ghost then?" The man roared with laughter as he stared, the wolf passed the fire, the men and into the command tent beyond; Jorah had never seen a wolf that big. "Don't know where he's been. Your Queen has dragons; Jon Snow has a dire wolf."

The wolf had looked to be pure white and seemed completely unconcerned by their presence; by any of the people it had passed even though he was not the only one who had stared at it. He'd always been told that dire wolves were gone, he rubbed a hand over his face; but dragons had also been gone once.

…

Before dawn men began breaking down the camp, preparing to move, two of the Dothraki stayed with her and she didn't see Ser Jorah once that morning; but Sam Tarly brought her a small flask. In only a matter of hours the army was prepared to move, and Jon Snow invited her to take a place with him.

Drogon and Rhaegal soared overhead, her children were eager to return to the south, even if it was not as far south as they might like to go. In truth everyone was eager to return to the shelter of Winterfell, and for the soldiers a more comfortable camp.

"When we make camp, I will send scouts out to look for any sign of the walkers as well as to any small homesteads and villages to warn them of the threat." Jon told her as they approached the site that the men had picked for a camp; the front of the line had already reached it.

"Living on their own they hardly stand a chance." She murmured, thinking of all that she had seen since coming to the North.

"They are Northerners, if they know what they're facing they'll fight with all they've got. They've known hard winters before." The man told her as they brought the horses to a halt where the men had begun building camp in near darkness.

Before long what had been a sheltered valley was a full camp for thousands of men and horses. Jon sent scouts out as men continued to filter in to the camp; Daenerys withdrew to her own tent. She could ride all day; she had learned that in the great grass sea with Drogo's khalasar years ago; but she was tired. She glanced to the men who took positions outside the tent. "Have you seen Ser Jorah today?"

"He was riding with the Dothraki your grace. Should I bring him to you?" The unsullied asked.

"Please do." Jorah and Grey Worm were her Commanders, but also the only two members of her council who had traveled with her; and she had not seen one today at all. That was not like him.

It made sense for him to ride with the Dothraki, he spoke both the common tongue and Dothraki with ease, few others did; but there were a number of things they needed to discuss. Some were military, but one was personal; and she couldn't help but wonder if that was why she hadn't seen him. He had joined her for the meetings yesterday and done his rotation on her guard; but he seemed distant somehow.

Some time passed before she heard his voice at the flap of her tent. "Your grace?"

"Come in Ser Jorah." She glanced toward him but did not move from her spot and gestured for him to take the seat across from her. "How is the horde?"

"Cold, but in good spirits, they considered it a good fight; they are happy their Khaleesi has provided them a few now." He stood across from her, hovering rather than taking the chair until she gave him a pointed look; she intended for him to stay a bit.

"We may have a few more to come, I will of course lend my support to the North as long as needed but we must begin to think of the south now that the number of the dead have been reduced. To the Lannister army and their sell swords." From a political view Tyrion was clever, but Jorah and Grey Worm had far more military experience than her hand; and Jorah had experience in Westeros.

"That will depend on where we face them your grace. If they were smart, they would close the gates of King's Landing and force us to lay siege; it would be a hard line to hold and attacking their walls would cost many men. But I do not believe they will want to allow you to claim the rest of Westeros. In the same way you do not want to be Queen of Kings Landing neither will Cersei Lannister." He relaxed a little as he spoke, he was talking about something familiar and she heard it in his voice; he had already been playing out the possibilities in his head.

Daenerys nodded to encourage him, she truly was listening to what he was saying but he had rested his left arm on the table and in her mind, she saw him in that tent. He hadn't hesitated with the dagger, making a wound deep enough to bleed; he knew it was for her and still he had sent Sam this morning.

"They will be wary of your alliance with Jon Snow, and may assume the Northern army will march for you. Blocking the route south would be their most likely strategy and the best option for that is at the Twins. It used to belong to the Freys, from the Twins they were able to control the crossing for over six hundred years; it is the most direct route South and from it you would claim control of the Riverlands." Ser Jorah explained, continuing with the rumors he had heard of what had happened to the Freys.

"How many men would be required to take it? And to hold it?" She questioned.

He considered that for a moment before answering that a few thousand could do it; but they would need to take it before the Lannister's army did. Currently it was in shambles as a small force tried to hold it together; house Frey is gone. The Riverlands were a region that acted as a gateway between the southern and northern kingdoms.

What she knew of these kingdoms came from books, and from the men who advised her; men who had lived and fought here. As he outlined his approach his hands moved across the table and the small map she had laid out, the geography was still new to her but familiar to him. She liked the idea of drawing the army away from the city and she knew the Golden Company would most likely be sent to face them first; that was what the sell swords were paid for.

As he gestured to a route south Daenerys reached out, wrapping her hand around his wrist, his armor covered his wrist and he preferred to keep a strap wrapped across his palm for grip but the scars from the grayscale treatment roughed his hand though well healed. She wondered of what the armor covered, from grayscale and from his own blade; for her. "Does it hurt?"

"No, your grace." He barely glanced at her, eyes focused on her hand as she searched his face; did he know that she had seen him and Sam the other day? "It just a mess left behind."

She nodded, she wanted to press him and yet this was not the place; the tent only gave the semblance of privacy. And he did not intend to tell her, that much was clear; but did he know what he did for her?

He did not stay long, and she did not see him again that night or the next morning as they began to march. But the second day of marching did not go as well, by noon they were approaching the road to Winterfell, but they were marching head long into a storm. Men and horses alike struggled forward against bitter winds and snow.

The leader of the wildlings rode up to speak with Jon, uneasy about what they might find ahead of them. As Tormund Giantsbane took his horse back down the line she glanced to Jon and nearly had to shout to be heard over the wind. "I didn't expect the wildlings to be afraid of a storm."

"Its not the storm the free folk are worried about, they've seen more of the white walkers than any of us ever have. Before they came south, they were trapped beyond the wall with them." Jon called back and as she watched she saw the concern in him as well.

Even though they rode for his home Jon Snow kept a hand on the hilt of his sword and the storm did not abate. Finally, they arrived at the gates, men turned to building camp yet again as they rode into the courtyard; she watched Jon greet his siblings. Those who had remained at Winterfell were surprised to see them arrive through the blizzard.

Cold and tired everyone seemed eager for rest in the security and warmth of the strong hold. Daenerys began to make her way to her chambers as Tyrion updated her on what had happened in the days they had been gone. She was grateful when she found Missandei had arranged a hot bath for her and sent her hand away; there were matters she would discuss with her advisors soon.

…

Jon Snow held a meeting of his Northern Lords the following morning, deciding how to continue and relaying the reports from the first of his scouts. Several of the men sent out to warn small northern communities had arrived to find they were too late; there was still a threat.

Jorah watched faces as the Northern houses reacted to the reports, his eyes found his cousin. He could assume that Maege's daughter did not want to know of him, perhaps she was curious but she did not seem to want to speak with him, he was not sure if she understood that his position in the Queen's guard meant he was no threat to her title. He would like to see Bear Island once again, but he did not wish to be its Lord.

He left the meeting to see how the army had settled into camp, and to check on the wounded, they would not be staying long; the Queen intended to march part of the force south to take the Twins. The others would remain here to support the Northerners; they knew the war was not over.

Grey Worm walked with him; the Unsullied Commander was quickly picking up the Dothraki language and learning their customs. The Unsullied knew of the Dothraki long before they fought on the same side in battle, but they were still learning to understand each other's methods. The horse lords were watching the strict soldiers as well, the Dothraki respected strength and he knew they saw it in the Unsullied; it made for a strong army.

They returned to the castle to join the Queen's council; there was more to consider now. Tyrion had news that there were ships on the way from Dragon's bay; the free merchants had responded to their Queen. As well as information from the south, and whether the spy master had bought the reports or not Cersei had been told that their forces had been decimated in the battle against the dead.

Jorah did not necessarily trust those reports, Varys claimed that his spies remained loyal to him; even in King's Landing. He was not so sure of that, but it didn't matter; they did know what the South had to throw at them.

"I will be sending the Unsullied south to take the river crossing known as the Twins. Grey Worm will lead them and hold the crossing." The Queen told the room before Tyrion could bring up another topic; and the man had been ready to. Jorah swallowed his own reaction, given he knew the region he had thought she might send him, but Grey Worm was more than capable of leading the assault. "We must prepare to take the South."

"The Twins are a strategic strike; it is a location that I am sure Cersei's army will also vie for. It has been both valuable and deadly in the past." Tyrion murmured. "However, as you begin to look south your grace you must also look to the future…"

"I am, I believe the foundations of a strong Northern alliance have been built; and they can count on my support until this matter with the White Walkers is dealt with. There may not be an army of the dead anymore, but the Northerners do not believe the threat has lifted and for now I agree. I will speak with the Lady of Winterfell regarding the expected arrival of the grain and its distribution." She was learning he thought, they all knew what Tyrion wanted to discuss; but she was not going to give into him easily. "I am considering what other alliances may be possible, for now those appear limited when looking South. Especially given how much honor is in their words."

He saw Tyrion wince slightly, while his fast talking and the intel Jamie Lannister had provided might have spared the older Lannister's life, the fact that the oath had been broken remained. Tyrion might be trustworthy, and he did seem genuinely committed to their Queen; but his family was not. Jorah wondered how frustrating it was for the man when she did not eat up every bit of advice he gave? Daenerys Targaryen had her own mind; she did listen but there were moments when he wondered if her hand understood how she thought; there were certain ways of advising her that would get no where.

He knew he was better placed in her army, and Tyrion Lannister was a clever man who understood the political games; but there were moments when Tyrion needed to take a different approach to the Queen. Perhaps he had an advantage in that he had watched her learn to lead, he had seen her heart break for people and their hardships; he had seen her hurt. Experience was shaping her and no matter how she tried to push it back, there was good inside of her, but speaking of political advantage and strategy was not necessarily the way to draw it out.

Her childhood had taught her of cruelty, wrenched from her home as a child and raised in secret alongside a brother with the illness of that family; she'd learned of betrayal too. It would always shame him that he had a part in that, but she was also a part of the reason he was alive today; had she not commanded him to find a cure he would not have stumbled into Samwell Tarly. And she had taken him back, she had found it in herself to trust him again; he would not fail her a second time.

…

She took a soothing breath as she left her advisers, the decision Tyrion pressed her for had been made; but her hand was not going to like her choice. He was still hoping she would consider marrying one of the power-hungry young Lords from the South, she had a better idea. Though there were a few other matters to deal with first.

And one was Jon's sister, Sansa was not fond of her, but as Lady of Winterfell the right person to be turning to with this task. She was also one of the people Daenerys dealt with the least, at least she had spoken with the Northern Lords more than a handful of times now, Sansa remained behind to tend to the hold fast and its people when they marched.

"Lady Sansa." She called as she stood in the open doorway, the young woman was bent over a ledger.

"Yes, your grace." The redhead rose, glancing between her and Ser Jorah who stood a pace behind her. "My brother tells me a portion of your army will be marching south."

"Yes, however the Dothraki and I will remain here as long as it is deemed necessary." She wondered if Sansa might prefer that she took all her men and left; some of her bannermen would. "Your brother led me to believe you are the one to speak to about supplies?"

"Does your army need more rations than expected?" Sansa asked coolly.

"No, but you know the needs of Winterfell, and your various bannermen. As we do not know how long this winter will last, I would ask about arranging a party east in a fortnight." She could not fault the young woman for guarding the supplies she had carefully, Jon Snow and his sister both cared greatly for their people and home; without Sansa she knew provisions would not have been gathered as efficiently as they were.

"I don't think you will find our bannermen eager to have their men march for you as you do not command them." Sansa did not flinch under her gaze, and Daenerys was silent for a moment; ignoring the barb. The woman was right, very few would march for her; but they would for their people.

"No, but your brother pledged fealty to me, and so whether you or your Lords like it I will honor the responsibility he has given. I have not known a northern winter, but men I trust have; a long winter will be hard. I brought my army north to fight alongside you because it was what the man you appointed said was necessary. Now, I will not stand by as men, women and children starve in the months or years to come. I will do what is necessary." She eyed the woman levelly.

"I thought you were heading south, once the threat has passed." There was bite to her words, and Daenerys nodded.

The Northerners expected to be forgotten if their swords were not needed for battle, left to survive by their own strength; and the Starks had been given good reason not to trust the South or her. From the stories she had been told this young woman had been forged from hardship, becoming the strength her brother leaned on and fiercely protective of her home.

"You know what Winterfell will need and you have some idea of what your bannermen need. I will follow my army south, but my duty will not. In a fortnight there will be a shipment of grain arriving at White Harbor. It is coming from Dragon's Bay. I hope you can be trusted to see it properly distributed throughout the North, each house should receive an allotment based upon what they have and their population; not what they can pay." If the stories were true than Sansa Stark was an ally she wanted, and a young woman whose respect it was worth earning.

"Your grace…" Her tone had changed but Daenerys was not finished. For the briefest second her face had revealed surprise and then with a nod it was hidden; someone had taught this young woman to mask her reactions well.

"Do not exact taxes from any house in form of food this winter; at least not as long as I live. I will make arrangements based upon your reports." The leaders of Dragon's Bay had offered to pay their taxes in grain, and the free merchants, a band of entrepreneurial former slaves who were thriving in freedom had made further offers.

"Yes, your grace, I…" Sansa started again, Daenerys nodded and slipped away, Sansa might not be her friend; but they did have a common interest.

And the Lady of Winterfell held sway over many Lords of the North, Daenerys was not naïve enough to believe that Sansa did not know that. It was better to let that news trickle down from the Starks.


	6. Chapter 6

The winter storm gripped the strong hold firmly and her men were preparing to move, Grey Worm had spent a great deal of time with Ser Jorah reviewing the route and using his experience before the Unsullied began to march south. She knew Ser Jorah would help as much as he could, but she suspected he wanted to be marching with them, however she needed him here; even more as she had decided on another matter.

"Your grace, the lords are meeting in the hall." She was jerked from her thoughts and rose; a little surprised Jon had not let her know they were holding a meeting.

Daenerys strode to the hall and opened the doors to join the Northern men, she had thought they were making ground; she was trying to build this alliance. The hall fell silent as she stepped in, her advisors followed her, finding spots near the back.

"You intend to feed the North?" One man asked, and others called out. "Since when do the Southerners care of us?" "At what cost? We are not rich." "And when winter drags on for years?"

More questions rose and Daenerys listened for a moment as they questioned the news their Lady must have shared; when she spoke, she did not raise her voice. "Some time ago I learned something, I went to a city where young men were forced to murder babies to prove their strength; but in truth it was to destroy their humanity. Another crucified children to use as mile markers on their road. How we treat those who cannot defend themselves is the truest measure of what we value."

The cities in which she had begun to learn what it meant to rule had taught her more than her brother had ever known of what their birthright was. "I came here because your leader placed the needs of his people ahead of his own titles. My army marched to stand beside you in your time of need, and I know you did not trust me, you may not now, and I know you have reason. I cannot undo my father's actions and I cannot offer the support you were denied in the past; but I do not have to repeat history. Your children will not starve this winter and you do not face your enemy alone. I intend to restore honor to the throne as well as claim it."

"The man who commands your armies sold slaves; you…" She turned to find that voice, to cut off his words.

"He fought beside us, laid battle plans while your men failed to guard Winterfell; failed to follow your liege lord's orders. You turned on house Stark too; Jon Snow could have your head for that." Another Lord called out, and men nodded in agreement; Daenerys felt her a surge of reassurance. She would add to that.

"He did, and he lost his lands, his title, and went into exile; then he also betrayed me. Ser Jorah Mormont spied on me for the Baratheon, for the country he was exiled from. And I banished him for it, but I earned his respect and his loyalty; he has saved my life more times than I can tell you and he returned to me. He has defended me when his life would have been far easier anywhere else, he has wielded his sword to defend you and risked his life to liberate hundreds of thousands of slaves. Tell me your story if I were to judge each of you by one action at one moment in your life without knowing your reasons? Do you believe that a man cannot change? That there is no redemption for a man who would give his life defending you?" The Northerners were silent as she turned, meeting as many of their gazes as she could; many nodded again.

Jorah had born his shame; he had not hidden that crime from her, but she did not believe he had ever given her the full story. He'd had a pardon from Baratheon and from her, he had proven himself and she needed him. Silence hung for a few moments, but the reactions were very different from the first time she had addressed them, before the battles.

"Let me give you more than my word; let me give you proof of my lasting commitment to the North. You want to keep your leader in the North, I respect that, so I will take a husband from a house that is proud and loyal to the North and to Jon Snow. A man who has proven those same qualities to me, so a man who knows the North will stand by my side so, I cannot turn my back on the North without turning my back on my husband's home. A man who will remind me of what earning loyalty and showing mercy can mean. I will marry Ser Jorah Mormont; Bear Island has stood loyal to house Stark for over a thousand years."

There was a moment of silence in the hall, and she saw Tyrion's reaction, then Jorah's; all color had drained from his face. But as she looked at him someone began to clap and as she turned to look to the high table more had joined them, the Starks had, and the room grew louder.

She had been considering it for some time and as she looked at the faces in the hall, beyond the two of her own at least, people approved of that decision. Daenerys did not need the wealth or the power any of the suitors that Tyrion suggested could offer, she needed the stability and loyalty that Jorah would give her. She could build alliances, but she needed her closest one to be built on trust and no man of Westeros would approach her with that.

When she left the meeting both of her advisors followed her out, she was prepared from the onslaught from Tyrion on how it was not wise or strategic. And Tyrion did not disappoint her, she listened quietly but her eyes were on the man who stood a step behind her hand; when Tyrion took a breath, Jorah spoke.

"Tyrion is right, you need a different man, a better man." His voice was soft, and even his body language was guarded and hurt, as he had the day she had banished him from Mereen.

No, Daenerys thought, she just needed to convince the right one to listen to her. "You swore to serve me, now I ask you to stand beside me."

He was silent, he looked ready to run and she sighed; dismissing him. Tyrion took a seat and poured himself a drink, she turned back to face him. "You told me that I could not have him by my side when I took Westeros, but…"

"He would not have been my suggestion, but you knew that, and I will admit that he does work, house Mormont may be small, but they have a strong voice in the North and for House Stark. He is a respected warrior, before exile as well as now and he has reminded them of that. He is also a good symbol of your mercy, that you will ruthlessly cut out rebellion but forgive and reward those who are devoted to you. But you do have a problem." Tyrion emptied his cup and poured himself another glass, she sighed and turned away; he was right.

"I can make alliances and I can rule; but I cannot be usurped by the man I marry. Jorah is the only man I truly believe will not try to do that. I can trust him; I can trust his advice and his loyalty." She sighed, and she believed she could make a marriage work with him. He wouldn't like the titles or the formality of a lot of it but the power would not go to his head, he would stand at her side with or without it.

"And in political marriages age does not matter, my father had me marry a teenage girl to help secure the North; you are the one choosing the man, many men older than him have taken brides younger than you." Tyrion drank some more and circled the room; she knew he was thinking now. "You have the power and money that you need, you are building the alliances you need through concrete methods, and he does set a tone for the road south; a good one after the incident in the Reach. Perhaps, in time, if there are a few Mormont babies you will add marriages to some those bonds, if certain notions have changed that is; but you first need the man to cooperate."

Tyrion was very right there, Jorah was loyal and strong; if she had ordered him into a fight she would have no issue. She wanted to believe a little time would help, he was shocked right now; she had intended to speak to him before naming him. But she had known that she needed to name him before the North where her council had to hold their protests. And the moment had come, the Northerner's had liked the idea, but Jorah's reaction had been stronger than she expected.

She went to find him but learned he had ridden out to the Dothraki camp; irritated she asked to be informed of when he returned. There was more in this than even the marriage, she knew she would have to marry but she had given up the idea of children for a long time; she wasn't letting it go now.

He didn't return from the camp until evening and this time she knew full well he was avoiding her; she went to him. She did not knock, instead opened the door and stepped in; they needed to speak alone. Blue eyes were wary, tracking every move she made but he had no where to go; she would deny any excuse he made.

She knew him, she knew she was safe with him no matter what he thought of her choice; and she knew she could push him. He did not wear his armor, it hung neatly with his coat, he must have just removed it; she could see the drops of water on the floor. His wrists were still braced, and Daenerys reached for him.

"Your grace." He pulled back, but she took another step closer and caught his wrist, unfastening the leather that protected him; and then did the same to the other.

"Remove your shirt." She commanded, crossing to set the wrist braces on a shelf; he hadn't moved when she turned back.

"Your grace, my scars are not a sight you want to see." He sighed, eyes pleaded with her, he wanted her to leave.

"I will see them." All of them, and she told herself that they would be extensive, but in truth it was not the scars greyscale had left that bothered her. He didn't need to remove his shirt to show her those, but she wanted to see him, she needed him to understand her intent; scars didn't change that.

His shirt slid from his shoulders and Daenerys swallowed her reaction, the scarring was extensive, it branched across his left shoulder, reaching over his chest and down his belly. He had bruises too, from the battle days ago, the marks were faded; where armor had protected him from strong blows. Silently she moved to see that the scars crept over part of his back as well, healing must have been agony. But he'd survived it.

Daenerys reached out and pressed her palm to the small of his back, where flesh met scar; he took a step forward. She followed him forward and applied a little more pressure, running her palm up his back over strong muscles, feeling the contrast between scar and skin; moving around him until her palm rested above his heart. He was strong and lean muscles, age had not softened him though his body showed the marks of his strength as a warrior, and the depth of the man was far more important than the scars.

"There is no reason to be ashamed of marks that prove you a survivor." He would not look at her and Daenerys felt frustration creep through her. Her hand traveled again, over his shoulder and down until she caught his wrist, tracing her thumb over the marks he had made himself; he tried to pull away. "Nor of those that prove you loyal, but I need you to be loyal to me in more than this; and this is not the reason for my choice. Though I would like to know how it came about?"

"Sam Tarly asked me, he saved my life." Dismissive of it, she traced the marks he had made, slightly surprised by how well healed they were; had he begun using another spot? "They do not last; the scars heal differently when cut."

"But you knew it was for me. Perhaps not the first time, or the second; but you knew." And said nothing, she invaded his space, nudging him back until he was forced to sit on the low bench at the foot of the bed. "Did you forget about it today? Or would you deny me…"

"I won't deny you." He looked up at her, his gaze sincere. "But you will have what you need from me with out a marriage. Khaleesi, I would die for you, I will serve you all my life; but you need a different husband. A younger man with something to give."

"You would give everything for me. I know that." Daenerys pressed her palm to his cheek and eased closer; settling herself into his lap. "And you will serve me the rest of your life, as I have asked."

She offered him no other choice, she could not chance that he would take it; take it believing he was doing what was best for her. He was a stubborn man, she'd known that, yet few men would let a woman sit on their lap and not reach for her.

She rolled her hips and saw his jaw flinch, his hands stayed at his sides; Daenerys shifted a little more. Partially to make herself comfortable, but also to tease, watching him react; feeling him react. Her hand traced over his chest, sliding lower until she reached his belt, his breathing quickened, and he moved to block her hand. However, his body told a different story, and that was something she would explore, but first, there was a dagger fastened to his hip and she took it; she'd let him get used to the feel of her in a different way.

While she did not fear the weapon, she did not like holding it to him and had to meet his gaze; he made no move to stop her. Pressing it to his skin she made a shallow cut near his left shoulder, only drops of blood rose from the wound; his hand covered hers and the blade pressed deeper.

Daenerys swallowed hard as he took the blade from her; blood ran from his shoulder and she dipped her head to take it. She felt him tense as her mouth pressed to his skin, licking the trail that had begun to run down and then sucking above the wound itself.

Her arm crept around his neck to anchor herself as he did not hold her, his hand came to press lightly to her back when she slipped; but she felt the tension bottled within him. After only a few moments she pressed a kiss to the spot and then her fingers to the wound; pressure to stop the blood. She stayed there, after a few moments she took her fingers away, surprised that the cut that had bled so freely had stopped completely now.

She looked up at him, but he did not seem surprised that the bleeding had stopped, as he started to move, started to shift her away, she kissed him. He might be restrained but he was not unaffected, her mouth pressed to his as she pressed her body firmly to his chest. One arm stayed linked behind his neck as the other explored, he did not stop her; but he was not helping either.

"Khaleesi, this is not a good idea." He murmured, lifting his jaw to break her kiss.

"You said you would not deny me." Her fingers found their way past his belt and his eyes closed; his body liked the idea and she liked the feel of him. "Don't start now."

She wasted no time, stroking him a few times to watch his face, to enjoy the idea of what he would feel like inside of her. Then shifted her skirts and his clothes until she could join them, her body eagerly taking him. His eyes flew open and for a moment she stared into a sea of blue before tipping her face up to kiss him again; this time he shifted.

Slanting his mouth over hers, his hands slid to her hips and as she pressed down, he surged up; Daenerys moaned into his mouth. Need coiled quickly inside of her and he taunted it with each thrust, finding a rhythm and driving her towards her breaking point as his hands helped lift her only to pull her back down.

"Please Jorah." She whispered, her pleasure had an edge as it gathered, as he drove her closer. He shifted, changing his angle and she could not hold on; he swallowed her cries as her body clenched tightly around him. And then he lifted her, he groaned but their bodies parted before his release; his seed wasted on her thighs.

…

He ran a hand lightly over her hair, willing his heart to stop pounding as though he'd run several miles. She was too sweet, tight and responsive, now leaning spent against his chest; Jorah knew he'd just created a problem. It should not be hard to do as she asked, but it was much harder not to do it now.

He knew how she felt now, and how she tasted; already his body craved more. He should have stopped her when she tried to climb onto his lap, he'd known he would embarrass himself then; but he hadn't been prepared for her to go so far. He hadn't thought she would want to.

"When we are together your release is mine." There was an edge to her tone and as he frowned her mouth pressed to his once more; then she rose.

Jorah watched her go feeling torn, he should have told her this could not happen again. But she took only a moment to fix her dress and then left, leaving him to sit alone. Rubbing his hands over his face he sighed, how had she settled on him for a husband?

When they rode south, when she took more of Westeros, she would have her pick of the young Lords; she would find one she liked. Yet she was clearly going to push this issue, and for the life of him he could not think of why. He'd sworn to her service, he would fight for her, advise her and keep her secrets; spilling a little of his own blood did not worry him.

And beside that it did not hurt him, that was something neither he nor Sam Tarly could explain. Sure, the blade stung a little, but the wounds closed faster than anything he'd ever seen, and he did not feel weak or hurt from the repeated loss; he had asked of it.

"I do not know how the magic works exactly, but I read of only two sources that could last a lifetime; you may be the exception to both. The herbs that will break the curse are poison, they will kill most; but they were the only chance I had to save your life. And I knew greyscale would kill you, or you would kill yourself; so, I took the chance that you would be strong enough to survive it." Sam had told him, the man looked afraid as though expecting him to be angry; he was alive, and he knew there would be no easy cure to a disease such as he'd had.

"They stopped the growth of disease; your left side was coated in them. They forced your skin to scar after I cut the grayscale away, destroying the upper layer of tissue that might have still been contaminated. Perhaps in a way they are their own magic, the process to making the ointment was exacting and they mark you for life, the disease and then the treatment, it change your blood; the book said as much, that's why it doesn't come back." Sam continued, still shifting uneasily.

"And the other?" Jorah asked.

"She said you guarded her the night it happened; one text specified that no man could be in the room when the curse was given. If you were it may have passed over you somehow, but I do not know if that pertains to her. I am only going off the references I can find, I only know what others have written and in Essos there are so many cultures and each with their own ways. I will keep looking."

He knew the young man would look, but he knew enough, he figured that Sam had already hit the target. And the Queen knew it, yet that could not be her sole reason for seeking him out. Jorah shifted and rose to prepare for bed, his body was sated and relaxed, but his mind was not.

The next morning, he hesitated before putting on his armor, the wound she had made last night was a thin red mark in the already scarred skin. Jorah made a small cut on his forearm and held a cup under it, he needed to find some semblance of balance with her again; and distance if he was going to talk sense into her.

He finished dressing and then went to find her, knocking softly at her chamber; not surprised to find Missandei with her. Missandei dipped her head as he entered and Jorah frowned for a moment; then stepped closer to the Queen, reaching out to set the cup in front of her.

"You could have come to me tonight Jorah." Her gaze searched him, and he tried not to flinch, he wasn't fool enough to deny that there was a certain appeal to that; but it was not wise.

"Your grace…" He started uneasily, she took the cup and drank it; never breaking eye contact with him.

"Then I will come to you." Her voice held promise, but he was not reassured; she knew how to test his control. "I would speak to you later today about arrangements, but I have another meeting this morning."

"Will the council meet?" He asked, Tyrion might be frustrating, but the man would talk sense into her; her hand would not support this.

"I've spoken with Tyrion on the matter already. We will be married before we march south, you worship the old gods; do you wish to be married before the weirwood tree?" She rose and approached him, her eyes searching his. "We will speak more on it later."

Jorah nodded, if they spoke alone then he might be able to convince her to see sense. She could find a better match to use to send her message, and she had men who would insulate from a husband who would try to play his own games; Jorah would protect her, and he hadn't met a man who could match Tyrion's mind.

When he looked for her later, he learned she had met with his cousin and adviser. Jorah hid his sigh; they had walked out to the grove of trees and the weirwood; he headed that way. The cold winds still blew but the walls provided some shelter in the grove and the canopy formed by the branches eased the snow. They were heading in and he fell in step behind the Queen; he glanced to his cousin.

"M' lady, we have not been formally introduced, I am Jorah, my father was Jeor..." He told her quietly, glancing to the Queen.

"I know who you are." Lady Lyanna glanced back at him, there was something in her eyes; something she did not say. But as he glanced to the Queen, he saw something in her eyes too, she looked at him with some curiosity.

They left the grove and crossed towards the castle, but as they passed the crypts Lady Lyanna's adviser turned and frowned; Jorah glanced to the man. And then looked towards the dark crypt, torches lit the way, but it was movement that caught his attention, it had caught the women's too and Arya had turned up from somewhere; both girls were turning for the steps and the Queen followed.

Different houses had different burial customs, on Bear Island the dead were given a pyre, a comfort now knowing what could face the dead; the Starks sealed theirs into crypts of stone. Below the ground the crypts stretched beneath Winterfell with generations of Starks; men and women interred since the castle was built.

Someone else must have come down here ahead of them given the torches were lit. Jorah's eyes adjusted to the darkness, there were a few torches along the wall, but the shadows were long and concealed to much for his liking. He could only see so far down the corridor, but took measured strides, keeping close to the Queen as they turned a corner. They were moving into an older section, and the torches were sparse, he took one down to carry with him; it was only when those ahead of them drew their swords he hesitated. What were they walking into?

"Khaleesi, go back now." He drew his own sword; he could not see a threat; but he could no longer see enough to feel sure of having the Queen with him.

"Ser Jorah, I don't think that I can." There was some fear in her voice, and he turned to look behind them; a wight had rounded the same corner they had moments ago.

He snarled, passing her the torch, it wasn't much of a weapon, but it seemed as though there was a moment before the wight spotted them; as though it had been looking for something else. But it was a wight and did what all the creatures did, as it charged, he drew his sword and braced for the attack.

It carried an axe, as it reared back to swing, he ducked to the right and struck with his sword; when it fell he heard the sound of metal clashing. There were more and the others were already facing them, they would stand a better chance fighting together and he urged the Queen to continue down the hall.

But as they came into a chamber, either side lined with statues he saw an overturned wheelchair, the dusty stone floor was scuffed; the Stark boy had crawled from it. Near the end Lyanna stood over the young man, her short sword drawn; he could not see the others, he could not tell if the boy lived. As the Queen knelt by Bran Stark he stepped past, the corridor branched again, Arya defended one path and the man from his home the other.

He realized the boy lived, but something was wrong; his words were barely more than moans; the same repeated. "They cannot see, if they see…"

They could hear the movement deeper in the crypts, he had no idea how far the tunnels sprawled but the wights were in them, the man from Bear Island saw him and turned back. "We need to get help; the castle must be…"

An ice blade slid through the man's chest and the words died in his throat, but as the blade disappeared, Jorah watched brown eyes become ice blue; he did not fall. Jorah swallowed hard and drew back his sword; to watch a man become one of them like that was something else. He shoved the man backwards and rounded to deal with the white walker that had made it; but the walker fled. Arya was already busy with another wight, Lyanna cut one down, narrowly missing a club; they were coming up now.

"Ser Angus?" Lyanna stood at the corner, there was shock in the young woman's face and the man she had known raised his sword; Jorah lunged back. That man had battle experience for several of the girl's lifetimes; it was not a wight she needed to face.

His weight threw her into the wall as the sword slammed into the shoulder plate of his armor; he pushed back and kicked out to throw the wight away. Wincing as he rolled his shoulder, turning to face the fight, that blow would ache for him, but it would have separated the girl's head from her shoulders; his height had caught it on a higher angle, before there was so much power behind it. Jorah pushed Lyanna back, kicking the creature hard in the chest again, it was no longer a man; that man would never have tried to harm his lady.

But the great white wolf launched past him, he didn't know where it had come from, throwing the new wight backwards as they heard more movement; this time coming from behind them. Jon, Tormund and several others came to join the fight; their torches lit the corridors and the problem they faced.

As good a job as the wolf was doing on the wight Jorah ended the creature, valyrian steel stopped its struggles against sharp teeth; he could hear Jon giving orders. "Guard them, seal off the crypts; they do not get past us."

The Queen and Lyanna were safe, Arya Stark was another matter and she fell in as they faced the fight, he was against the right wall and she took a spot behind him. As he swung his sword, aware of the man on his left he realized he was going to have to watch for the girl on his other side as well. He swung high, the wights were pouring up the corridor now, crawling the walls and climbing over each other to reach the fight faster; Arya worked under him as she had the day they sparred.

"How did they get down here?" Tormund called, he held another position, the large man sliced one with an axe and threw another back; some of these wights were only children.

No one answered, they just kept fighting, he heard another voice call out; this time calling for Jon. But a few moments later when a hand clamped on his shoulder, he nearly elbowed Jon Snow in the face out of instinct. "I need your help, Tormund too."

He stepped back as two men stepped forward to take their places, he followed them back to where a semi circle protected the women and Bran Stark. The boy's eyes were blank, strangely rolled back into his head, and then with a slight jerk of his head became brown again. "It is deep."

"Tell us Bran, I need help; I've fought with both of them." Jon knelt before his brother.

"The sword Lyanna keeps, her resting place guards the way." Bran focused on his brother, Jorah glanced to the Queen for a moment, she was dirty; the young man was propped in her lap.

"Aunt Lyanna is near the front, the wights aren't up there…"

"Not my aunt, the first; Lyanna Stark has forged many weapons, and so her name always remains in this house; each born of blood for the day they came again. For this day." Bran looked at his brother, as though looking deep into the man. "A mother giving her life so her son may become a great warrior, for his house and for the realm of men. The dead must not get that sword, they must not see the way."

"Get him out of here, all of them. Send more men down to hold the tunnel and set lines at each turn in case they have to fall back." Jon told the men holding position, one lifted Bran into his arms and another covered them as they fell back; he breathed a sigh of relief. Jon rounded on them, the task set was not going to be easy; there were a few details that were vague. "If she was the first called Lyanna, she will be at the very back and we need to find her before they do."


	7. Chapter 7

There was no more time to discuss it, Arya had appeared and as Jon led them down a branching passage the dire wolf joined them. They wove through chambers into the deeper reaches of the crypt, Jon and Arya each took a torch and walked the length of each chamber, crouching to reading the faded inscriptions while he and Tormund kept watch. At first, they only paused at the statues of women but as they went further became impossible to tell the identities of the monuments.  
The statues were worn with age and some had begun to crumble, they were far from the entrance and getting closer to the hot spring; there was less of a chill in the air now. Ahead of them Ghost stopped and sat before a faded statue, a standing figure flanked by two dire wolves. A sword of carved stone was in her hands, an odd depiction in that her hands were placed below the hilt.  
"What will a sword of stone do?" Tormund asked, creeping forward to peer into the far chamber. Jorah followed, casting his torch wide, a short hall ended at a stone wall; they were in the first chamber. These must be the graves of the first men and women of the great Northern House.  
"Take it." Arya told her brother, the two Starks stood close to the statue.  
"I'm not a Stark." Jon murmured, sadness and irritation twinned in his voice.  
"Not by name." Jorah spoke, there was a day he would have scoffed at this, but he had seen too much in this world for that now, if a woman could survive an inferno and return dragons to the world then who knew what this would be; but it would have a purpose. To win this war they needed every advantage they could get. "If the first Lyanna Stark was born Stark she likely lived her adult life belonging to another house, if she married a Stark she was born to another house and it was through her child her blood joined your line. You may not have the name, but you do have the blood."  
Jon nodded and stepped close to the statue, awkwardly grasping the handle and sharp, bright light flickered the length of the blade; it seemed he jerked forward but when he let go it sent him stumbling back. The young man got his feet and took a steadying breath before approaching again, taking the hilt in both hands this time.  
Light coursed through the blade and the man gasped, it pulsed up his arms; Jorah gripped his own weapon a little tighter as a distant rumble began. Faded, worn stone became the sharp clean features of a woman's face as though perfectly cast, hands shifted to curve around the hilt of her sword and as she hefted it Jon Snow tumbled to the floor; a silver hilt in his own hand.  
Jorah stared in shock, he'd seen a weapon like that before, but not in the hands of a man; the blade looked as though it were made of ice. Jon dropped it, scrambling away from the blade, looking up, first to them and then to the statue; Jorah glanced back and swallowed hard.  
Looking around the chamber as the ground beneath them trembled, statues carved generations ago, left to crumble and wear with time were perfectly etched men, women and dire wolves stepping from their posts; stone warriors on the move.  
"Does that blade kill those things?" Arya asked, shifting the little sword she carried as Jorah palmed his own weapon. He didn't like the odds of steel against stone, but as though they did not exist the statues strode forward.  
The monument of Lyanna led the way as more flowed into the chamber taking formation around the room; several rows faced the dead-end passage. A stone dire wolf stalked across the chamber without veering from its path, Arya stepped back but when Tormund held his ground the wolf kept going. Striking the man with its shoulder, wincing Tormund kicked at it and snarled in pain; the wolf continued.  
Jorah shifted forward as men formed a line behind him, shoulder to shoulder with wolves at their hips; an unspoken battle formation. He heard a choked sound and an uneasy shiver ran down his back, Arya circled a monument that had entered the room, one of the last and one he had noticed on the way down; it had been a poor capture of the man. Now Lord Eddard Stark marched with his ancestors, his face etched perfectly and sword in hand; there was no reaction as the girl spoke his name.  
"Its like they can't sense us at all." Jon circled the monument of a woman, the huge sword, still pulsing with blue light in his hand.  
"I don't think they can." Arya murmured, standing near her father. Suddenly they shifted, stone swords rose, wolves crouched, and he saw shadows of movement in the passage. "We're alive."  
As the first wight appeared a woman smashed her sword through it, with the right side of its body gone the wight continued, another broke it in two, yet the creature struggled to pull itself forward until Tormund's axe pinned it to the floor. But when the next wights entered, the chamber trembled and Jorah spun to see the far wall shake, as though struck by a great force; the monuments in the last corridor shifted.  
The ancient Starks could not kill the wights, they could smash them, punch holes in them and some were trampled by their wolves; but the dead struggled on. And soon there were more, the fight was on as the four living formed a tight circle in the center of the room, clear of the stone weapons that swung with power.  
He knew they could not stop; Jon had passed longclaw to Tormund and Arya had found a spot between him and her brother. They had no room to fall back as the wights flooded the room, scrambling over each other to join the fight; they could not escape.  
The Starks might not be able to kill the wights, but they did a good job of breaking them up; it slowed the advance. And their weapons did not stop, those of stone, steel or ice; the waste of the corpses sprayed over all of them.  
Wights struggled forward and Jorah saw that he was not the only one trying to look back; the wall behind the chamber continued to shake. Something was back there, and he did not want to see what it was, magic had bound the men and women interred in this crypt to their task, and someone had built that wall.  
But as he realized the wights were thinning out he saw the distinctive blue skin of white walkers; the wall shook even more, and the Starks moved; blocking any route out of the chamber. They won this battle, or they died here.  
The stone warriors from the side pushed in, as the wights were driven to attack the living it seemed the monuments to the dead were driven to attack the walkers. He could only watch in horror as a sword of ice drove into a statue and the monument froze in place. At the back the Night King stood, watching the remains of his army fight.  
Jon strode forward, his glowing blade clashing against another, Jorah twisted and used his body to block the path of a wight that tried to jump onto the man; running it through with his sword. They could not regain formation now and he fought from where was; trying not to be forced back.  
As the young man drove his sword into the walker the Night King took up his spear; the wights Jorah had been fighting turned to Jon. In horror he realized an order had been given, wights abandoned Tormund and Arya too. In this fight there was no honor, his sword cut through wights that faced away from him, clambering over each other as they tried to suffocate the man in the center.  
The wolf did what it could and the others joined, from within the swarm he saw Jon's own blade glinting, but time stood still as he saw the Night King shift that spear again. Abandoning the wights he struggled forward, he'd seen the power that could be put behind that weapon. A stone sword struck his shoulder and he landed in the waste that lay thick over the floor, shoving to his feet there was no time to regain his sword; Jorah reached out and grabbed the shaft of the spear.  
Cold raced up his arm and his body begged him to let go as the creature turned to look at him; he added his other hand and jerked back. The creature reached for him and he swallowed hard, it was as though the warmth of his hands weakened the weapon, the creature grabbed his arm; the cold intensified; he did not let go. The creature released his armor and reached out, reaching for his throat.  
"Don't let it touch your skin!" Tormund shouted and before he could react thick fur was wrapped over his face; he saw nothing but darkness, feeling the cold seeping into his bones.  
His body begged for mercy, it had hurt less when Sam Tarly cut flesh from his body, but he took a breath and another; then sharp hot pain seared his arm. Jorah was falling backwards; he felt the ooze of the corpses beneath his back and then solid weight landed on his chest.  
He struggled for air, his hands grasped at the furs covering his face and groaned as it felt like a boot trod on his leg. Finally, he freed the cloak, and gasped for air, he tried to surge up but a boot to the shoulder laid him flat; Arya knelt on his chest.  
Her short dagger buried in the Night King's thigh, and his body her brace to keep it there; to keep herself from falling forward. The creature's spear slashed left and right, somehow the girl ducked and wove under it, he realized her blade kept the man of ice pinned in place. But the valyrian blade should destroy it, the ancient steel had been one of their most valuable weapons; yet the Night King seemed barely effected.  
Jon's sword crashed into the spear, trying to find a mark as Tormund kept the wights from the man's back. But as the battle waged, he heard the distinct crack of stone and they all turned as a blue hand broke through the wall. There wasn't a moment for fear as the Night King raised his head in a silent shout, its spear sung through the air trying to catch Jon.  
Jorah grappled in the muck to recover his own sword, earning a glare from Arya but as he found the hilt her hand reached out. She abandoned the dagger to thrust the sword up through the creature's belly and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his body as he added his strength to it; keeping her from tumbling into the creature as she regained control of the smaller weapon. Their armor covered them from shoulder down; but if it took as little as a touch, he took no chances.  
As though made of solid ice Jorah felt the cold rushing through the weapon and into his body again as he held the hilt. But the creature slowed, it was stronger than the others; valyrian steel did not destroy it. The wall behind them crumbled and the spear above them whistled past their heads, he wanted nothing more than to drop the sword, but he realized he did not see pain in the girl's face.  
"Do you feel the cold?" She turned to look at him, shaking her head as the shoulder of ice appeared through the growing hole in the far wall. But Arya stared at him a moment longer and then let go of her dagger.  
"Jon!" Tormund's voice echoed in the chamber; the man was looking to the wall; a fist punched another hole. The creature was clawing its way out, and as it did the Night King fought them harder; as though sharing in its strength.  
When the spear swung past them again Arya grabbed the staff, throwing her weight back into the floor. The white walker's face morphed as if in agony, but Arya held tight, it swung the girl through the air and Jon danced back; his sword swinging wide to avoid his sister.  
"Deal with that one before it can fight." Jorah abandoned weapons anchoring the thing in place, struggling to his feet as the white walker heaved Arya up; her body swinging as neither let go.  
Jon turned, struggling through the deep carnage towards the wall and Jorah wrapped his arms around the girl beginning a twisted tug of war. A wight clawed at his back, its bones scraping his armor and trying to find purchase until it was flung away; Tormund was at his back. As he kept hold of Arya, he did not feel the cold, though he feared being pulled at like this must hurt her.  
"I can't let go." Arya shouted, panic gathered in him, looking back to see the same in Tormund's eyes; if they tried to help her they would lose any chance they had. She was a Stark, he was not sure the difference between her and Jon but while she could not take the weapon, she had some control over it. It had been agony for him to even put his hand on the spear or hold the hilt of his sword to the creature. "It can't either, pull me back."  
He struggled between keeping hold of her and finding a foothold. Jorah gave up and let his weight go, expecting to hit the floor again but got a step and realized Arya was twisting the spear; blue light pulsed between her hands just as it did in the sword Jon wielded. Jorah tried for another step and groaned when a strong arm yanked him several; Tormund had gotten a hand free to help.  
Maneuvering so Arya could twist the spear he got a step and then another, realizing blue light now pulsed through the Night King's hands as well; it was weakening. He heard Tormund's shout, nearly a cheer, and turned his head to see Jon coming back, the wall behind them did not move. But Arya jerked in his arms and the Night King struggled, he could sense its desperation and shifted one arm across her chest to grip her shoulder lest it wrench her free of him. Her feet slammed into his shins as it shook her, if he let go she would be dangling from that spear, too short to touch the ground.  
Jon stalked back across the room, the blade of ice glinting and shining in his hands, Jorah tightened his grip on the girl, the Night King reefed on her now. Jon could end this and as arms locked around him, he realized Tormund had the same thought; Arya Stark would not become a shield.  
Their weight controlled the girl, he ignored the wights that clawed at them as Jon swung back and drove his blade deep. The creature that battled them so fiercely shattered as if made of glass. The last of the wights disintegrated and the weapons that could not destroy it fell to floor, the force sent them all tumbling backwards.  
As they struggled to get free of each other Jon grabbed Tormund's arm; holding out a hand for all of them to stop. A huge stone paw landed where Tormund had been a moment ago, able to sit up they watched as generations of Starks and dire wolves began to march back to their posts. The white walkers were gone, and their task was done; the monuments returned to their rest.  
When the statues stood before the graves again, they rose, slow and tired. He stared at the wall that the monuments had guarded so carefully, only one statue stood in front of it now; the one who had given Jon the sword. He found the weapons in the muck and wiped Arya's dagger on his wrist before offering it to her; finally glancing to the cut on his forearm.  
"Does that hurt?" Arya had noticed him looking, it was barely a graze now, but she'd used some force to pierce his armor; he suspected she'd stabbed the Night King, he'd just been in the way.  
"No." He cleaned his own sword as best he could and slid it through a loop on his belt; it needed proper cleaning before being returned to its sheath and the proper owner.  
"A lot less than if that thing got his skin." Tormund had found his axe. "If you live, they freeze you from the inside; make you one of them. If you're already dead you're a wight."  
"Thank you." He murmured quietly, that was an experience he could do without, she had been the only one close enough to cover his face; armor protected the rest of his body.  
"It took all of us." The girl looked him straight in the eyes. "But someday there may be something I need from you."  
He nodded, she'd have it if it was within his power, though a part of him wondered what it might be; he'd noticed her watching for some time. Arya crossed to her brother, the two stood before the last statue, when Jon pushed the sword back into her hands it melded with the stone. The woman turned and returned to her place, hands shifting down the blade again. "Is it over?"  
"For us." Jon murmured, glancing back to the crumbled wall. "And someday, if the white walkers come again it may be easier; whatever she guarded is gone. The blade she keeps destroyed it."  
"I wonder if father ever knew why there had to be a Stark in Winterfell?" Arya murmured quietly, eyes scanning the crumbled stone. "We can take their weapons; we can kill them."  
"We can, and we will name our daughters Lyanna." There was a sadness in his voice, they knew what that legacy symbolized now and the price it came with. Jorah wondered how many generations that magic lasted? "Sam will record what happened here, and everything we've learned."


	8. Chapter 8

Daenerys watched the arch uneasily, her eyes searching the darkness for any signs of movement. The ground had shaken, men poured back from the battle lines, they said the monuments to the Starks had come to life, marching down into the crypts and the wights went with them. She knew only four people remained down there.

Moments turned to hours and worry showed on many faces, they could hear the sounds of a distant battle, but they could not help. A row of dire wolves, stone come to life, guarded the passage, turning back any man who tried to pass, one had struck a wolf trying to get around it; the creature bent the sword without yielding.

It left her with a sick dread in the pit of her stomach, how could they beat the creatures if dragon glass and swords did not harm them? Suddenly the ground beneath their feet trembled again and, in the shadows, she saw the wolves turn back, padding into the crypts. Had they won? What side did they fight for?

"Can your dragons block that tunnel?" Ser Davos appeared at her shoulder looking grim; the man knew what he asked. He had been evacuating the women and children to the military camp beyond the gates.

She nodded, trying to ignore the lump in her throat and as if they sensed her thoughts Drogon and Rhaegal soared overhead to find perches on the wall. Beside her Sansa took a shallow breath and she knew what the woman was feeling, she cared for the ones down there, Ser Jorah was down there but if he fell, she knew what he would want; the others would want the same.

But the dragons' presence seemed to reassure the men who waited in formation with weapons ready. Not so long ago those same men had looked at her children with a mix of horror and awe, things had changed. Yet as they caught sight of movement deep in the tunnel everyone tensed.

She could make out the shape of figures, but they were cloaked in shadow and then she tensed, noticing a dire wolf walked with them. Under the arch they stopped, looking out at the yard silently as men shifted their swords and eased lower.

"Khaleesi." The lilt of a familiar voice made her heart life and and Daenerys stepped between two of the men to get closer.

Jon, Jorah, Tormund and Arya stood under the arch, eyes scanning the sea of faces, staring out at the men in battle formation with weapons ready. Daenerys stepped through the first row and saw their eyes land on her; it looked as though they all relaxed a little. Their weapons were strapped to their sides, but their faces and armor, from head to toe looked to be covered in filth.

"Is it over?" Sansa asked, eyes on her brother.

"The Night King is gone." Jon replied quietly; his voice held the exhaustion written across the four of them. She watched Jorah pull off his gloves and try to wipe his face, smearing more of the filth across it, they looked as though they had been bathed in it.

Though that didn't stop her or Sansa, the Stark siblings embraced, arms wrapping around each other and Daenerys moved to Jorah only to be stopped as he caught her hands. "You do not want to do that Khaleesi."

She did, she wanted nothing more than to hold him tightly for a few moments, but he brought her hands together, folded in his and squeezed; his eyes conveyed the words. Tormund clapped Jorah on the shoulder as he walked past, right up to Lady Brienne and wrapped the surprised woman in his arms; spinning her around as men began to cheer.

The sounds echoed through the courtyard and from the camps beyond, Daenerys didn't look away from the warmth of sea blue eyes that didn't need to shout. He didn't have to say it had been bad, it was written all over him, over all four of them and even the wolf; Ghost had turned from white to a rather disgusting grey and moved rather slowly.

"We need to clean that up down there, it all should be burned." Jorah murmured; his body slumped slightly as he looked back towards the crypts.

"We'll take care of that." Ser Davos stepped up as Jon glanced back too; with an arm around each of his sisters. "You lot need hot baths, and a good meal. We all need that."

Both men nodded, relief in their eyes and as Sansa drew her siblings towards the castle she stayed in step with Jorah; Ser Davos began organizing the clean up. But Ser Jorah turned her away at the door to his chamber and she didn't see him for several hours.

Carts of waste, the last remains of the wights were hauled from the crypts to a fire outside the gate. The courtyard came to life as small folk and soldier alike joined the effort and others began to prepare a meal. Their spirits were high, the pressure and fear they had been living under had lifted and she could sense that they were eagerly waiting to celebrate.

And the Lady of Winterfell did not intend to disappoint, she found Sansa in the great hall ordering wine brought up from the cellars and tables arranged. The hall would be packed, and the kitchens had already been tasked.

"It won't be fancy, but they deserve something." Sansa joined her for a moment, eyes scanning the activity in the hall. "We survived it, because of them; all of them."

"Yes, we did." It felt as though the entire spirit of the castle had changed in a moment, giving her a new impression of it; perhaps closer to the one the Starks and their Lords fought so hard to protect.

By all accounts Lord Stark had been a fair man and a good liege lord, treating his bannermen well and his smallfolk honorably; Winterfell had been the heart held in the North. Those traits shone through in his children, they were strong but also compassionate, Sansa was not just scraping together a celebration for the lords but the soldiers and small folk as well. Daenerys was reminded she had arrived here in a time of war; this was the first glimpse of peace she had seen in this keep.

The celebration began without announcement, people trickled into the hall until it was full; and more packed in. She sat at the high table, listening as Jon questioned Ser Davos; from somewhere she could hear the booming voice of the wildling telling his story. The conversation closer to her was of more interest, they had followed the labyrinth of tunnels until they found a place where the ceiling had been caved in.

The men who climbed through found themselves in the forests east of Winterfell, perhaps at one time there had been an escape route there, but the wights had burrowed their way in. Ser Davos was more concerned about what he had found in the far chamber; he wanted Jon to look at it. When the men agreed to go down in the morning, she met Jon Snow's eye, he nodded to her; she would go as well.

Her eyes roamed the hall, she wanted to speak to Jorah, but she had yet to put eyes on him. Finally, she spotted Tyrion along one wall, he'd found a rather secluded spot and had a drink in his hand, but she was more interested in the man who stood beside him; they were having a quiet conversation.

Daenerys sighed, right now she did not think that was a good thing. Intending to catch Ser Jorah she rose and slipped away from the high table but nearly bumped into Lyanna Mormont. Looking at the young girl brought back an entirely different set of questions she needed to ask the man who seemed reluctant to marry her.

"He should have them; the others are gone now." The girl held out a small bundle of letters, and when she took them Lyanna turned away. It felt like their conversation this morning had been an age ago now, but she had learned more than she had bargained for.

She slid the worn papers into her coat, she had been trying to gauge the girl's response to her arrangement and to tell her a little of the cousin she hadn't known. But Lyanna Mormont had none of it and told her adviser to wait as they walked between the trees. Jorah had fled Westeros before she was born, but his aunt had silenced any who spoke ill of him.

"The mother I loved, the woman who raised me was fierce and honorable, she did not speak of him often but when she did, she was sad; she had been close to him. I didn't learn why until after she died, I found some letters among her things; she never found the courage to tell her brother the truth or call her nephew home. I do not believe my cousin to be a bad man, he wore the shame of our house; but he was not the cause of it." Lyanna had told her, there was sadness in her as well. "He will not care to deal with me."

Daenerys had fallen silent, she still did not understand what the girl spoke of, but she sensed that she should not push any farther. Any talk of strengthening an alliance with Bear Island had fallen aside, the girl had avoided Jorah for all the time they had been there and while he had respected the distance, she didn't think he had any idea of her reason. And she didn't believe Jorah would hold something that had been between him and his aunt against the girl, but Lyanna had no way to know he was not that sort of man.

But when she crossed the hall to where she had last seen Jorah only Tyrion was there, his eyes roaming the hall as he sipped his drink. "Where is Ser Jorah?"

"I believe he went to his quarters. Has he agreed with you yet?" The man glanced at her and she sighed. "I'll take that as a no."

"He will do it." Daenerys murmured; she was working on it.

"An ultimatum will not give you what you need." Her hand commented as he poured himself another drink, and Daenerys flinched; it was a little late for that advice. "He loves you, and you've known that for a long time; but you've ignored it. And now, knowing that offers you a certain security; so think carefully of what you ask of him."

"I know what I am asking him." She shot back, she wasn't banishing Jorah, she was asking him to marry her but perhaps she had thought he would be a little more receptive to the idea.

"Do you? I will admit to harboring a bit of cowardice; but then I like living. Mormont lives to serve you, and he serves you well as an advisor, but I think he is happiest defending you, fighting for you; I don't believe he fears death. That will serve you well in the wars to come, but when you take the throne what will he have?" Tyrion glanced to her; his voice low now.

"He will be king, but you want him to be king because he wants to see you to rule. So, what does he have? His sword, yes, he'll carry it, but he will never use it once you take the throne. The man has spent most of his life in one fight or another, perhaps the only control he's had at times is his sword. In time there will hopefully be a few children, and I do believe that will matter to him, and yes, a woman he is devoted to. But, will he truly have you?"

"Why wouldn't he?" She glared at him, she had been clear, and she had declared her intent before the Northern Lords; she needed to follow through.

"He is not a naïve man; he expects a political marriage and he knows the arrangement of the last one you planned. But he is a man of the North, loyal, strong; clearly it is not something he is taking in stride. Then you must think, if his wife rules the kingdoms, what will he do? Guard you, sure, for show. Treat those he does not trust to long stony stares; he is good at that and perhaps it will be useful." Tyrion watched her.

And she swallowed hard, stopping him. Was that why Jorah was pushing her away? He expected a distant marriage, one of convenience that gave her a name and ties but left her freedom. A hard realization, but perhaps that was an element she wanted from him; though not in the sense he might think. He would not control her or take from her; that was a freedom no other would give. His advice would be honest and sound, he was not afraid to tell her to do things the hard way if it was better and his agenda would always be for her; not bought by someone else.

He did bind her in Westeros in a way, he had lived here, grown up in this land and fought to defend it as a young man; knighted for his service before his crimes sent him half a world away. And his name bound her to the North, a kingdom that had always been tenuously held.

But she cared for him too, and she believed that could become something more; if he would give her a chance. Quietly she left Tyrion and went to his chamber, she knew there was no point looking for him in the hall and Jorah would never discuss anything so private anywhere where he might be heard.

They cared for each other, she knew she would not be alive with out him, and he'd never been more honest then the moment he told her of his love, but she had known that long before. And swallowing hard she knew she had done nothing of it. Desire between a man and a woman was easy, but love, love could grow. Perhaps they would not have passion, yet she knew of no marriage between royals that did; at least not at the start.

She did not knock; Daenerys was not in the mood for him to turn her away tonight, there were to many questions on her mind. And he would answer some of them tonight, she caught his eye as she shut the door behind her; and even that made her swallow hard. That warm sea blue that made her feel safe could have turned to ice today, but that was because Jon had trusted him to fight; she was thankful that the battles with the dead were finally over.

He rose, shifting the sword from his lap, whetstone still in hand; she crossed to take a seat near him. He'd washed off the filth of the fight and she saw his armor hung on its hooks, ready to be used again. When Jorah sat, he lay the sword back across his lap, carefully running his hand down the blade, whetstone to the metal before shifting the sword and doing it again. After a few moments he hefted it up and slid it into a leather sheath, she frowned, the belt was rigged differently than the one he wore; Jorah's belt had a dagger scaffold on the opposite hip.

"Sam Tarly loaned it to me. Heartsbane belongs to his house; it is valyrian steel." He lay the sword across the table. "I think it is time to return it to him."

"It served you well." It had served the North too; Jorah had fought fiercely and had been safer for having it. "I am glad he gave it to you."

Jorah shifted, his gaze searching her face for a moment. "I owe him my life, and so do many he has treated. Sam may not have stood on the front line, but he did make all the difference."

"Yes, he did." She agreed, feeling a surge of encouragement as he shifted to take her hand.

"Then there is something I would ask you to do." He shifted, giving her hand a squeeze; she nodded. "Release Sam from the Nights Watch and give him the Lordship of Horn Hill. His father and brother are gone, that cannot be changed but the South is different, they will not support a woman as their Lady as the North will and he will fear for his family with good reason.

"As Lord he can protect his family, he may never lead his bannermen to war for you. But that boy's mind is far more valuable a weapon than any sword they will put in his hand. Let him continue House Tarly, marry his girl and give his son a name, perhaps he will return to the citadel to study but someday that is a mind you will want."

Her eyes searched his face, he knew that Sam had helped her as well; and he was right. Jon had told her how Sam ended up on the wall at the edge of the world, perhaps the man had done his share of fighting; she didn't even know if there would be a purpose to the wall or the Night's Watch in the years to come. The wildlings lived in the North now and the Night King had shattered to dust, would the white walkers ever rise again? Or if they did was the wall even the place to fight them from?

"No, I won't give him Horn Hill." He was right, but she had a better idea.

"Khaleesi…" He frowned, she saw his eyes become a little guarded and wrapped his hand in both of hers.

"You will." Cutting off his comment, he said that title as though it was her name, but she wished he would always use it, if not than her name. "You will be King, the war in the North is over and we must march South; it is time I claim Westeros. And I intend to honor my pledge. It would be well within your right, so if you want it done you will do it."

"Khaleesi you do not have to, if you change your mind…"

"I think the North would take issue with that." Besides, she did not want to change her mind. "I must marry Jorah; you and I both know that. Many will likely prefer I let my husband rule, and you know that is not what I intend to do; that is not what I have fought for. But I would far rather marry a man that I can trust, that I know will always support my vision than a rich man who craves power."

She rose, shifting his hands to make space for herself in his lap, fitting her shoulder against his chest. He made her feel safe, and as she shifted to find her spot his hand came to her side; helping her find balance. Daenerys smoothed her palm over his cheek, pressing a kiss to his jaw as he tensed; turning him so she could kiss him.

"I fear I am not much company tonight." He murmured softly, he did not move to hold her, but Daenerys leaned her shoulder against his chest anyways. He needed to adjust to the new boundaries, she needed to find the right way to ask him to trust her in this.

"Tell me what happened down there." She whispered, letting her fingers trace his jaw, turning him now to see the bruise near his ear.

Exhaustion was written across him and he sighed before he began. He did not tell her of gore, or even of his own actions and that made her smile a little; he told her of those he fought beside. She heard the admiration he held for Arya Stark; the traditions of Bear Island meant it was not simply that she had been able to fight that impressed him, he knew of warrior women. He marveled at how the Starks had been able to take the frozen weapons, of Jon's weapon, taking it from stone only to return it.

She knew a little of that, she had realized it as she heard Bran's words, but it was not her secret to tell. Daenerys stayed where she was and though he remained tense beneath her he did not push her away and he did not stop her hands. She traced the bruises she could see and found the edges of more, he paused as she loosened the fastenings of his shirt to see them but continued when she glanced at him. She swallowed hard, she'd known it had been a hard fight by the sheer numbers against them, by the looks on their faces when they finally emerged; but this was different.

…

Her palm was cool against his skin that still felt to warm, his body ached from the fight today. He had felt flashes of pain, moments of it but the drive to survive had been greater. And then it was over, then every movement began to hurt, and the consequences made themselves known.

He had washed while the water was still hot, scrubbing himself raw, trying to remove the stench of death. It was different than in any other war he had fought, it was not blood or at least not fresh blood but the slime from corpses that had coated his clothes, armor and weapons. The smell was sickening and suffocating in a way he could not and would not explain; the waste of death that should not be unearthed. Yet it was not the details she asked of him, in fact once he began, she said very little.

Only when he stopped talking did she frown at him, her hands stopped tracing over his chest; he'd barely realized she'd opened his shirt. As if she were cataloging the marks on him, he knew he should tell her to stop and shift her from his lap, but she felt good where she was.

He had gone to the hall for a few moments, knowing as one of her Commanders he should put in at least a token appearance; and Tyrion had caught him. Jorah had expected the man to have some ideas on how to dissuade her from her plan, on how she could make a better match; but Tyrion was preparing to spin this not fight it. And he hadn't the patience to listen to the man run his mouth, especially not about certain things; his own actions shamed him enough without Tyrion hoping for potential repercussions.

"You should return to the celebration Khaleesi, the Lords should see you beside the Starks." His thoughts were enough to make him shift her, because he was getting damn close to letting it happen again. He rose, trying not to wince as her hand closed over his shoulder, her body sliding against his as she found her feet.

"They have seen me, and they know who fought beside the Starks to defend them today." Her hand traced from his shoulder to the back of his neck. "Jon Snow stood with his sister, a warrior woman of Northern tradition, a wildling he brought into this kingdom and the Dragon Queen's intended. A man who Jon says saved his life."

"And Arya Stark saved mine." The girl had saved his life and saved him from a fate worse than death if Tormund was right. He knew the events would be retold, probably for years to come and there would be less truth with each version. "It was war, we did what we had to."

"Then I am grateful to her, because you are not allowed to die." Her palm slid across his chest and Jorah swallowed hard; he had seen that look in her eyes before. "You will not leave me, not for many years; not until you are a very old man."

"I will always serve you." But he put his hands on her waist and held her where she was as he took a step back; intending to create some space.

"I have told you how to serve me." She let her hands fall from his body but only to find the fastenings on her coat. Her eyes never left him as the coat was hung over the chair, he pulled the sides of his shirt back together. "Leave it."

"Khaleesi…" Jorah swallowed hard but ignored her, starting to close it as she loosened the fastenings of her dress and slid it off.

"You swear to serve me, but deny me my greatest need, you believe by denying me you will help me. But you believe in me, I know you do." Her dress joined her coat and she closed the distance between them; Jorah swallowed hard. It was very hard to keep his eyes on her face and his hands to himself as she fitted herself against him again. "If you believe I am fit to rule the seven kingdoms then believe I am capable of choosing the right man to stand beside me."

If he argued again would her temper be strong enough to change her mind? Her palm slid against his skin, resting above his heart as that steady gaze pinned him in place; he could not bring himself to lie to her. He had believed in her for a long time, he wanted to see the world she would build, but he had thought to see it as her protector and advisor; not her husband.

Her face tipped up to him, but he could not move, his body ached to dip his head and kiss her, to take her and yet he knew that would be the answer she took. The answer she held him to, still wasn't he already bound?

They were as good as wed given the Northerners did not know she had declared without discussing it with her counsel, and she was right; they would not like it if she changed her mind. If he made a liar of her what place would he have in her service? What place would he have in the North if he refused to cement the alliance she was building? But as appealing the idea of tasting her sweetness again he loathed the idea of sharing her with another; could he satisfy her?

He did believe in her, there were still moments when he could scarcely believe her to be real, and he had sworn to serve her; he had no other place in this world. Gently he let his palm caress her cheek, taking her face in his hands as she pressed hers to his chest; pressing him back until he stood at the side of the bed. He dipped to kiss her, but their mouths barely met before she pushed him down to reclaim his lap; straddling him now.

…

She shifted slowly, pleased to find he still lay next to her, the room was dim, and she knew it was late, but she had no intention of leaving. Instead she shifted, feeling his hand slide limply from the center of her back, his chest had been her pillow; he must have pulled the thick warm blankets over them.

In the faint light from the candles still burning on the table she studied him, he looked so much more relaxed. Daenerys shifted the blankets from his chest, her fingers tracing the bruises and the scars, there had been a moment where she was afraid, he would cover her and pull away.

This had not solidified them as a unit, it may have given her the answer she needed but he was still too guarded. That meant he was still looking for a way out and she suspected she knew why; did he not see that he could give her the world she was never meant to have?

Perhaps he did not see it because of his own loss, Bear Island was the home he had loved, and she would ask him the truth of why he left; but that was not for this moment. Still, he had known a family, and a home where people had loved him. Any hope of that world had been torn from her before she could remember it, the glimpses she'd had of that comfort had been with him.

He stirred beneath her and she watched as he woke, feeling his hand come to rest against her back again. Blue eyes searched her and for a moment she felt guilty for waking him, she knew he had needed the rest; but he didn't pull away from her this time.

Emboldened she shifted so she lay on top of him, nearly as she had when they finished a few hours before. She liked the feel of his heart beating against hers, the way he shifted to see her eyes. He did not move, eyes still searching her face, looking for answers to questions he would not ask.

"If I have left the love you bore me as a woman too long then I will accept that, but I ask you to give me the love you have always shown me as your Khaleesi, and your Queen. If that cannot be of man and wife than let it be mutual respect and friendship because I will be yours as you will be mine." She met his eyes; she could see the protest he wanted to make but she didn't intend to give him the chance; that he would protest made her hope. "I will honor the promises we make to each other. I will be faithful; I will keep your confidences and share your sorrows; as you have mine for so long. You will share in my rule and you will father my children, the king or queen to lead Westeros after me."

He was silent but he shifted to rest his palm on her cheek, letting it slide back into her hair; Daenerys dipped her head to kiss him eagerly. She shifted, letting her weight settle over his chest and feeling his desire stirring, Daenerys reached down to encourage him.

But he would not have it, excitement coursed through her as he shifted; blocking her hand. He surged beneath her and she moaned as they lost contact, until he took her protest, slanting his mouth over hers; laying her on her back and fitting her into his side. His kiss was possessive, demanding, he was exploring as quickly as she gave him access and the next sounds from her were that of need.

His palm skimmed down her side, his thumb barely grazing her breast before smoothing over her ribs and down to her hip. Her belly tightened as he ran his fingers back up, she arched up eagerly as he fitted her breast into his hand; kneading her flesh lightly.

She gasped when his mouth left hers, finding a spot on her jaw and then her throat as his fingers began to pluck her breast; sending sparks racing to her center. When he finally began to suckle, she writhed, his palm already sliding over her stomach.

Daenerys groaned, letting her fingers slide through his hair, he was exploring and teasing as her need for him built. She already knew how he good he felt within her, but he was in no hurry, though her body was already tightening. He stroked her first, running his fingers over her before sliding through her folds; pressing one into her. Her hands tightened and he sucked harder at her breast as he added a second, hooking them slightly as he pressed in again, she could not help but buck in his hands.

"Jorah." She whimpered, her body dancing on a delicate edge; it would only take a little more.

"Let me feel you Daenerys." He whispered, lifting his head, pressing his cheek to hers as he shifted; she mewled in approval as he settled over her. The desire in his voice, in the way he said her name coursed through her as he began to join their bodies; she shattered as he thrust deep.

He turned, pressing his mouth to hers, swallowing her cries and holding himself within her as her body clenched around him. Only as the aftershocks began to pass did he begin to move, her body tightening again in moments. Her eyes closed as pleasure raced through her, he thrust into her and while he held his weight the slide of his chest on hers and the feel of him over her was intoxicating.

She felt his control beginning to break, his rhythm faltered and on each thrust he tipped his hips up; stroking a sweet spot inside of her. Her body gathered and tensed, she was unable to voice what she wanted, but she needed it badly; her body taunt and eager for it.

"Daenerys." His voice a whisper as he held himself within her, he was deep and she was full, her body ached; needing release. "With me."

He pulled out and thrust in, her body clenched as she felt his seed and she slid over that ledge again. It felt as though she was coming apart, yet she felt safe looking up into sea blue eyes, watching pleasure wash over him as well.

Daenerys lay still a moment, reluctant to let him go, her body sated and relaxed, while he held himself on his elbow his weight above her was comfortable. He tasted her again, slow and sweet before rolling them, she mewed as their bodies parted, even though he settled her on his chest; pulling the blankets over them.

"We will marry today. You will be my husband." She murmured, her palm resting above his heart once more.

"Until the end of my days." Jorah replied, she felt him press a kiss to her forehead and nuzzled deeper into his arms.

Daenerys closed her eyes to sleep again, she would keep him close, it might take some time to convince him she truly meant what she said; that what they could share was real. She would make him see, desire was there, and love could be built; it could grow if nurtured. He would help her reclaim her kingdoms, help her rebuild this place in her vision, but he would offer her something far better; a home and family.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please note that this chapter contains a major backstory change for one character, it is not the backstory of the show or the books.

Carrying a torch, he followed the others back down into the crypts, Jorah stayed a pace behind the Khaleesi as Jon Snow and Ser Davos led the way. A clean up effort had been made but it would be some time before the Starks' resting place was fully repaired. The statues stood along the walls as though they had never moved, each marking a grave; he noticed those who had been above ground eyeing them.

"Why did the statues of the Starks rise, not their corpses?" The Khaleesi wondered, pausing before the statue of Lyanna; the first one.

"Probably because of the magic used to build this place." Jon replied before stepping through the broken wall, into the chamber that had been blocked off; that had held something that the Night King had wanted.

He offered his hand to steady the Khaleesi as she followed before ducking to step through himself. Sam Tarly and a few others followed with Tormund bringing up the rear; some stumbled in the dim light. Chunks of stone littered the floor and when he knelt, passing the torch over some he realized it was not from the wall; but remains of even more statues.

"Your grace." Sam Tarly murmured; Jorah continued shifting the light over the stone. "Ser Jorah?"

He frowned and looked up to find Sam trying to see the wall through the shadows from his torch and realized uneasily the man had been trying to get his attention from the start. He moved forward, shifting the torch so it illuminated the wall where the man was trying to read a large inscription.

Jon moved closer to; a second torch added more light but the faded characters did not make sense to him. "It must be a language from before the Common tongue came North; or maybe it was intentionally written in an old language."

"There might be records some where, perhaps a way to translate it…" Sam traced his fingers along the marks and Jorah knew what the young man was thinking; those records would likely be in the citadel.

And as a hand rested on his back, he knew his intended had made the same connection; he had assumed Sam was speaking to her before. They weren't married yet, well at least not for a few more hours but he wondered if there might not be some way to skirt the titles and the formality. She might enjoy it, but she was a Queen, she was the one who would take the throne; perhaps he could hold on to the title that he had earned.

Jorah rose and moved to explore the rest of the room, there had been a battle in here, one they had scarcely known of and at the back of the chamber he found the tomb the white walker had been held in. Even in winter this part of the chamber was warm and there was a dampness to the walls, they were near the hot spring that Winterfell had been built over. The walker had been interred here for a reason, and guarded heavily by the Starks; had the walker been all that they guarded? His fingers traced worn stone, there were fresh scuff marks on it. The creature had been trying to break out, but first it had tried to get through the stone; he couldn't help but wonder what for.

…

They had said very little this morning, she had woken to find him watching her; she could practically see the wheels turning in his head. But when he pressed his palm to her cheek, she knew he remembered his promise; his eyes said it all.

They would marry tonight, but that was only one part, the next was getting him to accept the role and that was going to take some work. He was a loyal knight, and he knew the boundaries as such; but he wasn't simply her protector now.

She had been a little disappointed when he rose, pulling on his pants before reaching for a cup along with his dagger. Pleased that he remembered, she felt strange asking that of him, but she knew how she preferred it and closed her hand over his. She folded herself into his lap and traced her fingers over his shoulder, leaving him to make the cut before she pressed her mouth to the wound and immediately, she noticed his palm smoothed over her back; he was more relaxed.

She had left Ser Jorah's chamber that morning to find Missandei waiting in her own quarters. As her friend set to fixing her braids the woman pried just a little and Daenerys relaxed in her company. Ser Jorah had warmed to the idea enough to agree but she knew there was a little more to be done.

"When you have time today, collect Ser Jorah's things and bring them here. Wherever we stay I will share quarters with my husband." There was an appeal to that she had discovered in Mereen, she did not simply want her lover to come to her bed and leave; with the man she was marrying she suspected that intimacy would help even more than it was something she would enjoy.

But the day quickly got underway and she ended up spending most of her morning underground, and that was immediately followed by a council meeting. As her advisers began to file out, she reached out to stop Jorah. "Walk with me."

He nodded slightly and turned to fall in beside her, staying just slightly behind her as she cut through the passageway and out into the courtyard. Though it was cold, and the sky was overcast the air was fresh and the day lit by more than torches and candles. The crypts had left her uneasy and the meeting had been frustrating.

Varys' spies said the Lannister army had not moved from King's Landing, but the reports of the Golden Company were another matter. Tyrion had some battle experience, but it was Jorah's she trusted, he'd proven himself capable there many times over. "Do you think the Unsullied will be able to hold the Twins?"

For a moment he was quiet, letting her lead as they walked out into the godswood; she saw the tension in his jaw. The Unsullied had little trouble in taking the river passing but holding against twenty thousand sell swords was another matter. "There will be a price, but Grey Worm knows they are coming, and he knows his men."

"That isn't an answer." But she knew he wouldn't give one until he had thought it through.

"Facing them on one front the Unsullied have the advantage, I don't know who would be commanding the Golden Company now and I don't know who is advising them from the Lannister's army but if they want any real hope of taking it back they need to attack both towers and that means going around by the Kings road." Jorah finally spoke as they roamed through the grove of trees.

There was more that he wasn't saying, and she knew what it was, the Golden Company had a slight advantage over the Lannister army because they had faced the Unsullied and Dothraki before; with varying success rates. While both forces had distinct fighting styles, they were different from what the Westerosi armies had seen and that could work in her favor; but the sell swords knew what they faced. And were likely to think the same way Jorah did, which meant the battle at the twins could be a decisive one.

"The we need to march for the Twins as soon as possible." Daenerys sighed, she had hoped to have a day or two to figure out exactly where the North stood and ensure that matters here were resolved; but the Unsullied would need support.

"Khaleesi, if we head for the Twins, we could end up hemmed in and under siege. It may not be the easier route and it would rely on Grey Worm's ability to hold the crossing but if we were to take the King's road, we may be able to prevent the crossing from becoming surrounded and come in behind their lines." He countered. "But to be effective we need to wait for them to attack."

That would mean the Unsullied would have to hold out under the mercenaries' attack, it was what the men were trained to do but her armies had just come through a war; they needed to fight together. As a cavalry force the Dothraki were unmatched, coming in from behind Jorah was right; they would turn the tide. Yet there would still be another army to face in the South, and how she did not know how many Lords would join the Lannisters.

Jorah talked her through some of the stronghold's defenses, as though he'd sensed she needed the reassurance that it was a defendable position. While her armies had certainly not been decimated in the way that Varys had spies telling Cersei, they had lost men and had many more who were injured; and each of them was here. Each one had left his home and followed her across the Narrow Sea, then followed her North to fight against the dead; she felt a responsibility to them. And in her Commanders, Jorah and Grey Worm, she believed she had met that duty, both men thought through strategy and considered their options; but she would not be ignorant or above what had to be done to win these Kingdoms.

Daenerys turned back towards the castle, knowing he would follow; she wanted privacy for the second part of their discussion. And while Jorah would never complain of the cold, she felt it beginning to seep through her coat, as much as the fresh air had been welcome so was the warmth of the castle.

But she felt a little tense as she led the way back to her chamber, well their chamber now; that was something else he was going to have to adjust to. Missandei had already collected his things and placed them in her room, Jon Snow would marry them tonight as there was not a male head of house Mormont available to do it.

He frowned as they entered but said nothing, she knew he had noticed that his things had been added to the room and felt his gaze land back on her. "There is another matter we need to discuss. I attempted to bring it up with your cousin, she was not sure you would want me to make arrangements with her."

His confusion was real, and she swallowed hard; she knew very little of what his life had been before he left Westeros. And the young girl had given her reason to question it as well, Daenerys took the worn letters from a shelf and offered them to him; a part of her feared what was written there. But she needed to trust him with it, and she needed to trust that he would keep his promises to her.

"She thought you should have these; she gave them to me last night." Perhaps she should have given them to him last night, but she had wanted something else from him and as she watched his face change, she wondered if it was even right to give them to him now.

He seemed hesitant to take them and swallowed hard as he slid them apart, faded writing marked one for him and the other was addressed to Jeor Mormont of the Nights Watch, she had not read them, but she was afraid of what they might say. For a moment she thought he might open them, might tell her something but he only tucked them into his coat.

"I will speak with my cousin." Jorah told her quietly, he looked as though he had gone somewhere far away in his mind, somewhere sad.

"Why would she believe there was bad blood between you and your aunt?" Daenerys pressed carefully; the girl had said her mother cared for Jorah, that she had been sad when she spoke of him. Given the circumstances of his departure she wondered what had been said, had young Lyanna inherited her fiery temper from her mother?

"There was no bad blood between Maege and I." He sighed. "But my decisions harmed her and betrayed our family."

She swallowed hard, gesturing for him to sit as she took the seat across from her, they had spoken occasionally of why he'd fled over the years; but never in detail. "How many slaves?"

"Two." He answered quickly, and she frowned; his tone had shifted slightly. "And only once."

Daenerys sat perfectly still as he was silent, as though he were waiting for her reaction; but a cold realization had washed over her. He was lying. He was looking her in the eye and lying to her; he had been for years. And as she thought back it had been in his voice for years, the bitterness when he spoke of being forced to leave was different then the remorse he had for the crime.

It was not just because of what he had lost, his words on loosing his home and his wife's betrayal rang true; but there had been moments over the years where a word or two did not. Irritation gathered within her, why had she not seen it before? He was not the sort of man to deny his crimes, he owned up to his actions even when the consequences might be severe. If he was a man to run why had he not fled Mereen when a copy of his pardon was passed to her? But he had fled rather than face Lord Stark.

"Why?" She asked quietly, having already decided she would not accept a dismissive murmur about money and his wife.

"Execution would have been too quick." There was ice in his voice and shame in his eyes; those words rang true.

"They were poachers."

"If they had only stolen goods from our lands their fate might have been different." He murmured, and this time there was pain in his eyes. "If you would excuse me Khaleesi."

He was shifting before she nodded and Daenerys sat, only watching him disappear; there was far more to that story and she felt foolish for not realizing it before. She had never seen him look so much like he wanted to run, and Daenerys swallowed; he disappeared rather than tell her of it.

…

He needed air and space, sorely tempted to throw those letters in the first fireplace he saw Jorah left Winterfell. Tacking up his horse he quickly mounted and urged the animal through the gates; the rush of cold air welcome as the past threatened to drag him down. Years had passed since that horrible day; his mistakes came at a cost far worse than banishment.

He would have taken the kiss of Lord Stark's blade back then, but it would not have fixed anything; it would not have protected the woman who had been as a mother to him. For Maege would never have watched him die for that crime, she wouldn't have let him leave either if he'd given her a say in it. Even though it had been his fault.

But the best thing for all of them when word came that Lord Stark knew something of what had been done, was that he disappeared. His disappearance added truth to the rumors and the North was content to accept his dishonor, Ned Stark had, he'd taken his wife with him out of duty more than love; not that she'd stayed long once they made port.

Jorah breathed in the cold air and fought against the memories pulling at him, trying to block out the three beautiful children he'd known and how they'd died. He had fashioned a little wooden sword for Jonan only a few weeks before he died, the boy had been so eager to learn to use it; to learn to fight. That fearless dark-haired boy had died with the toy in his grasp, meters from where he was attacked; Jonan had posed no threat to anyone.

But neither had Maeve or Lucan, they had been children playing where they should have been safe. It had taken two days for Maeve to die, only nine years old and there had been nothing the maester could do but ease her pain. Lucan and Jonan had dragged her partway up the hill before their own wounds took them, those children had only known suffering in their last hours while those meant to protect them were unaware.

His own mother had died when he was still a boy, childbirth had taken her and the last of her still births, but Jorah clung to the memories he had of her. It was his aunt who stepped in; helping his father raise him, his father's young sister who tried to console him. And years later when Maege had married he had enjoyed having young cousins, the children breathed life into Bear Island; all three had been spoiled. Even more as his own marriage failed to produce a child and his wife's unhappiness became suffocating, he had loved the chaos and interruptions his little cousins caused.

When his father left, taking the black to pass the lordship to him and perhaps to flee the painful memories in that castle, Maege had been his right hand as he learned to lead; he'd named Lucan his heir until such a time as he had his own son. Yet there was no one in this world who he had failed more.

Jorah circled the horse around, riding along the southern edge of the camp, he needed to be out in open country right now; but he had no intention of abandoning his Queen. Though he could not sit across from her and think of this, he had kept the secret for years, telling the same tale until it sounded like truth; even to him.

It was better left in the past, the shame was his and he'd worn it, he could not think of the what ifs. It would not change that terrible day; it would not dull a mother's grief nor undo his foolish decision to delay justice until they had remembered the children.

Finally, he turned back, the cold creeping through his coat to numb him and the horse tired; he let it walk back to the keep. Brushing off the stable boy who came to take his reins, he had done this so he would see to the horse; the beast had not protested the unnecessary work. And keeping his hands busy eased his mind, he did not want to read what Maege had written but he he had to; given her daughter's reaction he suspected he knew the gist of it.

However, as he glanced to the sky, he knew he would not be doing it today; he was to marry tonight. He would not dampen this day for her, his cousin could be set straight tomorrow; tonight, he would focus on the woman who had decided he should be hers. Given he was to marry a Queen he had better give his armor a shine, he had nothing fancy to add so he should at least be at a military standard. And the night was not going to wait for any of them.

But when the moon was high in the sky, the night surprisingly clear, he stood before the ancient tree, his eyes searched up. When he first married it had been in a sept, his bride had no use for trees and had wanted to be wed in the south. At a huge celebration none the less, in retrospect that should have been an indicator of what their life together would be, for the ceremony had not measured up then and he had never managed keep her content after.

This was different, the Khaleesi had chosen to honor the Northern beliefs and had asked for this even though she did not fully know it; but she had asked for one small addition. And none would deny her, a Queen deserved the rigorous and ornate affairs that the South liked and yet she chose a simple one to bind them together; to bind her rein to the North.

As he heard the hush fall over those who waited and Jorah turned to look; his throat tightening as she walked towards them. She looked beautiful in her warm coat, her hair that was usually tied in intricate braids was simply pulled back from her face at the sides and left free to tumble about her shoulders.

He had not seen her hair falling loose like that since when they first met, as she began to lead, she adopted a version of the Dothraki braiding to mark her victories. She was stunning and far too good for him, yet her eyes never left his face as she approached.

"Who comes before the old gods this night?" Jon Snow asked; but none stood at the Khaleesi's side.

Jorah turned to glance at him, but saw the young man already recognized his error; the rote words would not work here. But Daenerys spoke, her voice clear and strong as she stood in the clearing alone. "Daenerys, of House Targaryen. I come to be wed. The last woman of my great house, trueborn and royal. I come to beg the blessings of the gods. Who will claim me?"

"Jorah, of House Mormont, faithful servant to the Queen." He offered his hand; he had no inheritance or lands to offer but she knew that, and he fully understood what she wanted of him. Before the North this night he declared the place he took in this marriage, and the place he would take in her rule.

"Your grace, do you take this man?" Jon asked, though she had already taken the hand he had offered and stepped up beside him.

"I take this man." She glanced at him for a second as the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North bound their hands together and stepped aside so they could kneel before the heart tree.

She was the one who asked that their hands be bound, the symbol of joining their lives and bodies may not be that of the North but it meant something to her and to him. After a moment Jorah rose and draped a new cloak over her shoulders once he helped her to her feet; a simple ceremony but now they were wed.

And as they returned to the castle for a celebration, he watched her, there was still so much to be said, he could sense the questions she wanted to ask. Jorah knew he would have to answer, though he suspected his answers would hurt her, he also knew the trust she put in him by not asking those questions today. But he knew her heart, and he hoped she would understand that he had done what was necessary and had he not they never would have met.


	10. Chapter 10

His arm draped over her back, he was quickly becoming her preferred pillow; it was easy to fall asleep listening to the beat of his heart and feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. A part of her longed to simply stay here, to ignore the day that called to them because she knew what it would bring.

The North may count the war as over, but she had a long way yet to go, and the road South loomed ahead of them. She felt Jorah's fingers running through her hair and realized he had woken; the man she married was certainly not one to laze around in bed. But she liked that he did not move her.

"I will ride with you and the Dothraki on the King's Road. Tyrion and Varys can go directly to the Twins with a unit of riders; they will arrive before us and let Grey Worm know of our plan; I do not want battle plans sent by raven." It was a plan they had already discussed, that Jorah had suggested; though she had made a small adjustment.

"I would feel better if you flew to the Twins." He was cautious and he wanted her safe; even though he would take risks himself. Daenerys pressed her palm to his chest, he meant well, and she knew that.

"The dragons will stay with me, and if we come under attack I will go." He had made her promise that, if they were attacked on the road, she would take Drogon and fly directly to the strong hold and safety; he would deal with the battle.

She shifted to meet blue eyes, the look that passed between them an unspoken promise; Daenerys knew she had made the right choice in a husband. Even if that husband did have his secrets, that was something she had not forgotten though she suspected she needed to let him explain in his own way. She was going to have an answer, and it would be the truth.

But she did not spoil their morning by bringing it up, and as the day went on, she saw very little of him. Though she knew he was around and when she walked out to check on the dragons, she could tell that the Dothraki knew they would march soon; she saw many sharpening their weapons and checking over their horses.

Her dragons would be glad to head south and she suspected it would be good for them; dragons liked warmer climates. She spent some time stroking them, giving them the attention the wanted, she knew they stayed because she was here, but the North was a hard climate for them. It was a hard climate for men too and that turned her attention to other matters.

While she could spend hours with her children, she needed to ensure matters in the North were settled before she turned rode out on the King's road. She was pleased to find Lady Sansa had already prepared a detailed plan for the distribution of supplies as the Northern banners prepared to return home, with the war over they could weather the winter in their own keeps with their small folk.

The winter village just outside the gates of thrived and would continue to until summer finally came but she knew it would be a healthier and safer place when the various small folk dispersed to the winter villages of their own homes. It was not just warriors and soldiers who had come to Winterfell to survive the war; the whole of the North had poured through the Starks' ancestral gates. Thousands of people in one place along with military camps could be a dangerous thing if illness broke out or infighting; she had heard a few of the Lords discussing it.

Lady Sansa might not be a strong supporter, but the woman was agreeable; if cautious. Daenerys did not fault her a little caution; she had seen that the young woman was wise and valuable to Jon Snow's counsel; it was an alliance she would continue to build.

"There is one thing." The redhead spoke as Daenerys prepared to leave her in peace; she nodded. "Jon is your warden; the North chose him because he is what they needed; but he carries the name of a bastard."

She nodded; it was a topic that had come up more than once; certainly, a first for the North and even Westeros. But they were right to choose him, even if she happened to know he was not technically a bastard; he did not want to make that fact public knowledge.

"Bran is not likely to marry or have children. When I marry, if Arya marries, our father's name will disappear; our children will be known by our husband's houses. Jon's children will not have a name because he has none to give them; though he is my brother; he is a Stark." Sansa spoke softly. "My father couldn't give him a name while my brothers lived, but Bran, he is something else now; it is Jon who can continue our father's legacy. You can naturalize him, by royal decree you can declare him a Stark."

Daenerys swallowed hard, there was a small problem with that and if she did it, she might be throwing an insult rather than helping; but Sansa did not know that. Though that could benefit her, if Jon Snow became Jon Stark formally, he would emphatically decline any claim he had to his true parentage and inheritance. "If it is what he wants I will do it."

Lady Sansa smiled slightly, and Daenerys left, she would leave that suggestion to the Lady of Winterfell to broach with Jon; she didn't feel quite right asking. He had given her his word that he did not want the Iron throne, but his true parentage did complicate things; she did not want him to believe she couldn't take him at his word. She knew how much value he placed upon it.

However, it also touched on a more personal problem; one she had been toying with long before she decided who to marry. The children she bore Jorah would carry his name; after her, house Targaryen would disappear.

…

It was easy to stay busy, the men wanted to know when they would move south and he needed reports on the injured; however, as he rode back through the gates his eyes landed on a small figure crossing the courtyard. There was something else he still needed to do.

"Lady Lyanna." He passed off his reins and lengthened his stride to meet her; it was easy to view her reactions in a different light with what the Khaleesi had told him. "May we speak?"

"Of course, your grace." There was an edge to the young woman's tone and he bristled at the title but continued into a private place along the walkway.

"Whatever happened in the past can stay where it is. But I know how hard life on Bear Island is, I know how hard winter will be there; do not turn away the Queen's help on my account." He held her gaze, wanting her to know he meant his words.

"Do you not care of your honor? You let your own name be slandered for a crime you did not commit…" The girl had her mother's temper Jorah thought, Maege spoke her mind no matter who she spoke too; Lyanna was the same.

"Respect is earned and can be earned again, life cannot be. I cannot undo what happened on our land, there are choices I would change; but leaving is not one of them." He had longed for home for many years and yet he had known his reasons were true.

Had he done his duty his aunt might have made different choices, but some things could not be undone. The gold had squared his debts, he left his father's sword but took one of good quality and left a woman who he loved to lead his people; a woman who needed a purpose to keep on living. He was good with a sword and for a man in the East that meant a decent living, not one to his wife's standards but he hadn't been able to meet those even as a lord.

And something else had come of it, something he had never dreamed of that had now seen him marry a second time. Jorah had learned to make peace with the past, it was not easy and it was not done in a single victory; but he knew living in the past would destroy him.

"When do you ride south?" His young cousin asked.

"Within a few days." Jorah murmured, if news came that the Twins were under attack the Dothraki could break camp and be on the march in a matter of hours; otherwise the plan was to march at dawn the day after tomorrow.

His cousin dipped her head and slipped away, he hoped that resolved the matter; he would be glad if there was something he could do for his home after all this time. Jorah had not thought to see Bear Island again in his lifetime, but it was becoming more and more of a possibility that he would and Jorah was not sorry of it. But first there was a long road south and a war, a war to put the rightful Queen on the throne and it wouldn't be easily won.

…

She frowned when Jorah did not appear for a meeting with Jon Snow and Sam Tarly, the latter had been assigned the miserable task of transcribing the unknown script from the wall of the crypt. The man might not know what it said but he had a few theories based on some scrolls he had appropriated from the citadel; not only about the message itself.

"I believe Winterfell was built over the hot spring for more than the obvious reasons of warmth and water, it was built after the long night; after they had defeated the white walkers. The heat of the hot spring may have weakened the white walker's powers, which might ensure that the magic within the crypts would be stronger. I won't know for certain until I am able to translate the passage but it was written by the first people to defeat them." Sam Tarly explained, gesturing to a diagram in a scroll he had spread out on the table.

"Then are we to assume that there could still be more of them?" Tyrion asked beside her.

"It is difficult to know, there could certainly be younger ones due to a situation in the North; however, if they were created by the Night King they should have shattered like the others." Jon explained.

As the men discussed it Daenerys tried to follow, even though she would be leaving this for Jon to handle she wanted to know what was going on. The North was the first kingdom that was truly hers, the largest and perhaps the wildest; she would not repeat the past here. If they still needed her support, she would find a way to give it, the South would never truly know the threat their Northern neighbors had thrown back for all of them.

Finally, the meeting broke up, Daenerys dismissed her advisors and slipped away, winding through the corridors; hoping she might find Jorah in their chamber. But the room was empty and there was no sign that he had been back here since this morning, of course he hadn't; he would work just the same as he had before.

She had noticed how his jaw tensed any time someone called him by his new title, and so far, if it was used as a means of getting his attention it failed. Daenerys had what she needed, a man who was content to serve and advise her; but she wasn't sure she had him convinced.

Jorah didn't reach for her at night, he certainly reciprocated, but unless she reached out first, he treated her much the same as he always had; staying close and attentive. But not by the standards he was now allowed and she realized he was still guarded; Daenerys wasn't sure how to fix that.

As she headed for the courtyard, she knew where her husband would be, she spotted the young Lady of Bear Island. The various Northern banners were preparing to return to their homes, perhaps Jorah had dealt with that matter already; she wanted it settled before the Islanders headed west.

Lyanna Mormont had not lost the intense edge she was well known for, but she did hesitantly agree to receive and distribute shipments of supplies to the Western communities. In treacherous winter weather it would be easier to move goods by sea than land to some of the remote areas of the North and Bear Island was ideally situated. The Western coast had deep water ports and the sheltered bay was safe for small crafts to travel between the island and the shore.

However, she made one more request which was met with a slight smile. Depending upon the circumstances of the Southern surrender Bear Island would also garrison her men should a time come that they had to move against the Grey Joys. She did not know what had become of Yara and Theon but she would rout her enemies from these kingdoms before she was done; experienced sailors and a Northern port would be an asset.

Jorah had told her where many of the poachers that favored the small fishing communities came from, and with the free folk joining Jon Snow she hoped that threat was one of the past; the Iron Islands would remain the main source. But as she thought of her husband's words, she asked a question. "How much do you lose each year?"

"Not as much as we used to; not as much as we have in the past." She heard the sadness in the girl's voice, just as it had been in Jorah's; what had been taken from these people?

"The warden has not helped you before?" The Starks commanded the most men, certainly they could have supported their loyal bannermen.

"Poachers like to come where our men are called to their liege lord, or away at sea. Women of Bear island know how to hold their homes, we know exactly what they are capable of and we give no quarter." The girl's eyes hardened and Daenerys suspected any man who believed the young lady could be pushed around learned the hard way.

"I suppose after what happened with Jorah they think twice." She sighed.

"It wasn't Jorah who sold those men." Lyanna murmured; brown eyes bore into her. "It was my mother. I don't know if he tried to stop her, or if he was too late; but he took the blame for her."

"Why?" Daenerys whispered, shock creeping through her system; she knew why he lied now. But why had his aunt wanted to hurt those men? She could not have been so naïve to what the life of a slave was.

"She wanted revenge. She gave the gold to Jorah, but she wanted them to suffer for what they did to her children." Lyanna replied softly. "Maeve was nine, Lucan was seven and Jonan was only four. I was born after they had been murdered."

Daenerys swallowed hard, thinking of a mother who had lost the children she loved while they were little more than babies. Was that why Jorah blamed himself? Perhaps he hadn't wanted to see his aunt suffer any more, but why had he taken the gold? Why flee into exile rather than explain it?

She tossed the questions around in her head the rest of the day. She knew Jorah, he would have been younger then, but he'd been knighted and fought in wars; why hadn't he executed the men? Had he agreed with his aunt?

It wasn't until that evening that she was alone with her husband and she knew he could see that something was bothering her. Daenerys tried to listen as he gave her a quick report on the preparations for the march and updates on their injured men. Finally, she reached out and drew him down to sit beside her, he liked to stand as he used to; but this was his space now too.

"Thank you for convincing your cousin to hear me out." She reached for his hand, holding it tightly.

"This will be her first winter, she knows it will be hard." He murmured, she wondered if he was thinking of his own winters there.

"She told me what happened." Daenerys studied his face, holding tightly to his hand when he jerked back. "Why didn't you tell me? We were half a world away from Westeros but you never told me the truth of it."

He was silent for a long moment. "I never told anyone about it."

"Why?" She asked, annoyance creeping into her voice and blooming when he jerked away to pace. "Why not Jorah? Why lie about that?"

"Maege would never have run." He turned back to her, blue eyes hard set. "My cousin suffered for two days before she died, Maege never left her bedside. The children were playing in the woods, they were meant to be home but it didn't matter; none of us missed them until supper. That ate at Maege."

"If they were guilty of murder you could have executed them." Daenerys murmured softly, if it was necessary Jorah would have done it.

"I intended to, but I thought we should lay the children to rest first; I would not put their murderers ahead of them." There was ice in his voice and she realized he would have gladly killed those men; his eyes closed and his voice filled with defeat. "I should have done it while she was with Maeve."

"You were mourning too." It was written all over him, he had loved those children and he was still broken by what had happened to them.

"I was building Maeve's pyre when she took them. If they had already been dead, she would have found another way to grieve; but her daughter had died horribly. Her sons were dead, she didn't want the men who killed them to have an easy death."

"Why run? Why take the gold?" She demanded.

"I caught up to her after it was done, she gave me the gold; she said my wife would have it spent before I was home." Jorah sighed, and sadness washed over his face. "When I started to hear the rumors about it, about a woman, I settled my debts and I left; it didn't take any more than that. No one at home knew what had happened out there, they didn't know which of us did it. But I could not watch her die."

"You didn't, she lived because of you." She stepped close to him wrapping her arms around him, after a moment he leaned into her. Daenerys swallowed hard, he didn't need to say any more, she knew the taboo on slavery went deeper than a law in the North; if a pardon had been offered would his aunt have taken it? Not likely, not a mother grieving her children.

And if she fled, she'd have left any memories of her children behind along with any true hope of a life; in the East women were not warriors. Maege Mormont was said to have been a fierce one, and if she was as loyal as her nephew, his absence would have given her purpose; leading would have given her some reason to keep on living. Then she'd had another child.

Was it her daughter that had given her a reason to stay silent? Or was that little girl part of the reason she wrote those letters? It didn't matter, she doubted Jorah would tell anyone else that story; but she was glad she knew. And while she didn't have words for what he had lost she knew it was that tragedy that had brought him into her life; she would remember those children too.


	11. Chapter 11

Daenerys was exhausted as the army made camp that night, they had marched from Winterfell at first light. She had watched the holdfast shrink behind them, hoping enough had been done in the first kingdom of Westeros she held; so much had been done to them in the past. It was a strange feeling to have spent so much time longing for something and to finally watch it come together; though she had not imagined starting in the North.

But things were starting to fall into place, the Dothraki marched South, alliances had been built and she had married; she could have a child. Though her marriage was another matter, she glanced at her husband who rode beside her, Jorah seemed hesitant with her, perhaps in small ways he had warmed, but he did not reach for her out of his own desire. And it marked an unspoken gap between them, one Daenerys did not know how to bridge.

Then her blood came, that it came with the moon for the first time in years was a good thing; it meant a child could grow within her. Initially she had been disappointed, hoping Jorah had already put a child in her belly; that had helped in her first marriage. A child would bind them tighter, not out of duty or loyalty but in love; she knew Jorah would be a wonderful father.

But nothing could be done of that until it passed, and Daenerys feared what that space would mean in her husband's head. She could not complain that her husband was not attentive, he was supportive and respectful and in small ways he was slowly relaxing with her. If he reached for her, she had already planned on how she would satisfy him, it might not be what he hoped but he would like it; she would not discourage any effort he made. She wanted more from him than his mind and sword, or even his name; she wanted what she had been denied as a child. What she was meant to be denied all her life; Daenerys wanted a family with him and a home, one that was warm and loving.

It could be done, but first she had to take the Iron throne; she had to restore her house to its proper place. And that meant holding the Twins against Cersei's sell swords, that was what they set out on the King's road to do. Jorah had already warned the men to be cautious of any groups approaching and over the next several nights camp was built well off the road with rotations of sentries posted; as they got closer the men prepared.

The camp was large and busy, the Dothraki liked travelling, they were well used to the lifestyle. At night the camp was full to bursting with men and horses, but in the morning, it was all quickly packed away as rider mounted up and the horde moved out. They knew the formation they were to take and how to pack their horses, how to tend them so the animals could move all day.

Her dragons ranged free overhead during the day and chose spots beyond the camp at night. They had been on the road for several days and she was falling into a comfortable routine. She rode beside Jorah during the day, often sharing a simple meal as they rode; the Dothraki only needed to stop to water their horses. At night they shared a tent and she curled into his side, sometimes they spoke a little, of the past and of his home; but other times sleep came quickly.

When she moved to him his arm would slide easily around her, his hand running through her hair; he was becoming terrible for ruining her braids, but Daenerys didn't mind that. In the mornings he did not make her ask for his blood, it was a routine that was uniquely theirs and Daenerys made sure she used the time to be near him; to encourage him to hold her.

Tonight, they had made camp late, they were getting closer with each day and the men were becoming eager to reach the Southern tower. Daenerys found the tent and rubbed her back, she was ready to reach the Twins and be done riding, the cavalry set a harder pace when the Unsullied did not march with them; it had been some time since she roamed the Dothraki sea with the horde.

She was grateful for a quick meal and bed; her husband was tired too though he didn't say it. Daenerys was asleep almost the moment she curled into the bed. At first, she wasn't sure what woke her, but as her husband shifted her weight across his body excitement swirled inside her.

But when Daenerys let out a soft moan to encourage him a hand clapped firmly over her mouth and in the darkness, she saw the glint of his eyes; his hand stayed in place as he tucked her into his side and reached past her. At first irritation rose, but it quickly turned to fear; shadows danced on the wall of the tent. Someone was lurking outside.

Jorah had put his frame between her and the tent flap, but he made no move to rise; his hand remained in place over her mouth. As a shaft of moon light appeared within the tent Jorah moved, with a flick of his wrist she saw the glint of steel hurtling through the air and heard a strangled cry.

But then she saw nothing, his solid frame rolled across hers, shoving her to the floor, he was on his feet and Daenerys screamed as a man threw him backwards. Jorah did not stay down, twisting up he surged and hit the man hard; but his opponent blocked his route to his sword.

Now she could hear shouting outside, shadows and light danced beyond the tent and Daenerys realized their camp was under attack. Jorah's fist slammed into the face of another man, nearly tripping over a body on the ground. It seemed a very long time that she knelt behind the bed, she could hear the fighting outside and didn't dare try to escape; but she didn't know what to do to help.

Finally, Jorah got an arm around the man's neck, using his greater height to jerk him back and up. The man struggled, thrashing and twisting against him, but as a curved blade flashed through the air Daenerys cried out. One of the Dothraki lieutenants stepped into the tent, pulling back his blade as the man's struggles weakened. With a hard twist the man went limp and her husband let him crumble to the floor; stepping over the bodies to take his sword belt.

Lighting a candle, she took a better look around the room and swallowed hard; an arrow was buried in the headboard above her pillow. Had she been there when it was fired this would be over, and had she been alone it might have been; it was her husband who had woken her.

"What has happened?" Jorah asked in Dothraki, he'd had little more than the dagger he kept handy to fight with, but he'd managed.

"Ten or twenty men crept into the camp and fought our men. They were a distraction." The man said, nodding to the two on the floor. "They did not succeed."

"Are there many injured?" She asked, they had come to kill her; it seemed like a thought that should be more shocking than it was.

But it wasn't the first time, and she was safe; though some of the Dothraki had been injured. And she thought Jorah's back might be bothering him, he'd taken some hard blows and looked uncomfortable as they were briefed.

When they were finally alone again, with more guards posted outside the tent and throughout the camp, she drew him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Removing his shirt, she let her palm smooth over the skin, the fading scars were rough under her fingers and already a bruise was beginning to bloom.

"In the morning I will take Drogon to the Twins and wait for you there." She had promised that, and she would not make him ask again. Her hands rubbed his shoulders and down his sides, eventually feeling him relax into her and in time she curled back into his side; though his sword remained within reach.

…

He watched the dragons disappear into the sky painted by the rising sun and felt something inside him relax; she would be safer in the stronghold. Jorah didn't know what the day would bring but they could take no chances with her.

As the columns assembled to ride out scouts returned with reports and he snarled. The Golden Company had marched around them during the night, those men weren't truly assassins; they were only a distraction. While they had kept the Queen secure the sell swords had protected their numbers and detoured around the camp; as if they knew her army would be on the King's road.

Jorah gave orders for the horde to move out and then rode with the scouts to see the trail, dismounting to look at the worn trail. The sell swords had detoured wide, it would add time to their march, but while moving South their horses had to pick their way through the Riverlands, their enemy had a relatively flat march around to the Northern tower. The trail had been made by foot soldiers, and a small cavalry regiment, the Dothraki would have easily decimated the force but now it could cost them valuable time to double back on them.

It would have been much faster to ride straight to the Twins to reinforce their position, it had been in planning that they had discussed a few other alternatives; but there were a few he had discussed with only Grey Worm. The Unsullied Commander was unwaveringly loyal, and Jorah had to count on that now, that and the soldiers' strength to hold out as they would be attacked from both sides. It was a possibility they had known of, and one that Grey Worm should have prepared for; hopefully the man remembered all that they had discussed.

The horde could reach the Twins before the Golden Company's forces surrounded them, but the battle on one side would have already begun when the other was attacked; the Unsullied would be divided. Jorah called the lieutenants and began to lay battle plans, there was no need to stop moving.

By dusk two days later they camped a league beyond the mercenary camp in a ravine, he placed men in the hills to watch through the night; he had a feeling the sell swords were expecting them. Jorah climbed to one position to look for himself.

The Golden Company had tried to lay siege lines and the signs of a battle were clear; the discipline of the Unsullied had already done some damage. He saw no sign of the dragons but as he looked at the heavy weapons the sell swords had brought that might be for the best; they expected this war to be fought by the dragons.

"Build a fire at the top of a hill in the East, keep it burning all night." He instructed, when he saw a response they rode to war.

And through the night men kept watch, late that night the fire was returned; Grey Worm knew they were coming. In the morning the Dothraki mounted their horses and divided into the regiments as ordered, strict battle formations were not their way; but they understood what needed to be done. Jorah and two lieutenants would lead the charge against the Golden Company's lines, the Unsullied would take formation beyond the gate; the sell swords would have to choose which side to focus on.


	12. Chapter 12

Daenerys swallowed hard as she landed Drogon on the Northern side of the river, thankful they had swung North in flight. A battle was raging on the Southern shore and as they saw the dragons, men on the heavy weapons pulled to attention, loading catapults and taking aim with scorpions at her children. The river was between them and the heavy weapons now, she slid quickly from Drogon's back and urged her dragons to take off; they flew North again but she knew they would return when she called them.

A unit of Unsullied came from the Northern tower to escort her to the safety of the strong hold and Daenerys quizzed the captain on what had been happening here. The Golden Company had been here for several days but each time they attempted to lay siege lines Grey Worm led an attack; yet she knew that would take its toll.

They could not become trapped here in a long siege, and she had to hope Jorah's instincts would be right and that he would arrive with the Dothraki soon. Her advisors were also in the Northern tower and none wanted her to go to the other tower; leaving her blind to the battle.

She could hear the struggle, the clash of steel as men fought and smashing stone as the catapults fired repeatedly; followed by periods of silence. How many men were hurt or dead? How much damage was being done to the stronghold? Daenerys waited impatiently but as hours turned into days she began to worry more.

The Dothraki should be there, Jorah should be there, and she knew he would be in the middle of it. If news of their marriage had traveled South, he would have even more of a target on his back. And a disturbing thought had occurred to her, Jorah was still guarded with her; she feared he might see a way out of their relationship. It made her feel sick and angry, it made waiting even harder.

Grey Worm sent men across the bridge to update her when he could, she knew her Commander was busy, managing his men and trying to meet the Golden Company's attacks; but all she really knew was that they were holding out. And the next day they had sell swords outside the Northern tower as well.

The Unsullied unit went out to disrupt them but a cavalry regiment rode from the trees, horses crashed through men and the battle began. They had no heavy weaponry so Daenerys watched from high on the tower wall, wishing she knew her that her dragons had stayed in the North; if they had they could help on this side.

The mercenaries fought without fear, they realized her army would not let them lay siege lines or give them a break. The men in this tower had waited and watched even longer than she had; knowing their comrades on the other side were fighting with everything they had.

Taking up a shield formation the Unsullied held against the cavalry unit that kept attempting to break the line, her men knew the power of their discipline. The first line locked their shields together against the ground, their combined strength holding against the horse's charge while the second row held their shields high; sheltering themselves along the men in front of them.

But as time wore on, she saw too many injured men falling back, the captain kept many men within the stronghold, guarding access to the castle itself; his eyes roving from the battle beyond the walls to the South. Daenerys watched as her men were pushed back, they jabbed spears through the shield wall, killing horses and riders where they could; but soon they would be trapped against the walls.

And suddenly a horn sounded a little farther down the wall, Tyrion looked to her in confusion and Daenerys looked further down the wall as men began to move; in horror she realized the gates were opening.

The shield wall in front was crumbling under the assault of cavalry and foot soldiers, Daenerys wove her way down to the Captain. "Why have the gates opened?"

The man shrunk under her demand as she could already see the first of the sell swords had tore through the gates and out onto the bridge; racing to attack the Southern tower from behind. She felt physically ill as many more followed, her men below managed to keep them from this tower; but they were getting exactly what they wanted.

Daenerys watched as the men raced across the bridge as she heard Tyrion questioning the Unsullied Captain; soldiers took formation around her. Around the gates her remaining men dealt with any stragglers, but it didn't matter; the towers had fallen.

Suddenly the Southern gate opened, horses raced through the breech; but then she heard them. And she saw their raised swords, the way the horses charged; their enemy did not have a chance to run. Grey Worm had opened the gates for the Dothraki.

In a spearhead formation the Dothraki slammed into the sell swords, cutting down horses and men, shoving some over the sides as they charged; Daenerys sighed in relief. The Unsullied stood aside as the first of the Dothraki broke through, charging out onto the Northern field, and turned back to ensure the job was done.

The Unsullied herded any who survived across the bridge as the Dothraki ran down those who fled; Daenerys rode ahead to the other tower. She took in the damage, and the injured as she looked for her husband, in the Southern field she could see the carnage of the war; they had sustained casualties.

Missandei joined her and she could see the weariness in her friend's face. "Have you seen Jorah?"

"He was in the first charge." The woman shook her head and Daenerys felt her heart sink a little.

As men found their units and lined up prisoners, wounded were removed from the field and brought up to the tower to be assessed; Daenerys scanned faces. Tyrion was beside her, he wanted something, many things probably but the knot in her gut was tightening; she could not find her husband.

"Your grace." Tyrion was at her side again. "We should bring the prisoners into the tower. I will have men find an appropriate place…"

"No. The Unsullied are guarding them, they can stay where they are until my men have been tended." She didn't care whether they were comfortable, she didn't really care what happened to them.

But her own men were another story; many had been injured today and she saw the bodies of more in the field. The sell swords belonged to Cersei Lannister and they were the reason her men were dead; they were not her subjects; not on this side of the sea or the other.

"The men are being looked after. But we need deal with the men from the Golden Company. They are doing a job, most of them are foot soldiers; they are not loyal to Cersei." Tyrion continued.

"They aren't loyal to me either and they do not have any ties to Westeros." She shot back, and she did not have the men to spare to remain here to guard them; she heard Tyrion's groan.

Daenerys took long strides to get away from him, her eyes still searching, now for Jorah or her Commander; clearly those two had worked out something ahead of time. And neither of them had told her, but then she had instructed Grey Worm to draw on her husband's knowledge to take the Twins; neither of them had discussed the battle strategy in counsel meetings.

…

The Dothraki did not like strict formations, they preferred to fan out and run down their opponents; but he needed them to hold to the plan. As his eyes roamed down the lines of men who rode with him, he knew they rode with only about half their strength but in the hours that would come the men held back would be vital.

The men screamed as they charged and as expected the Golden Company turned to face the fresh threat, his riders were eager for a fight. As the battle began Jorah fought, both against those who he met and to watch his line.

The Golden Company did not use the shield wall as the Unsullied did and when they hit them the lines broke; but the formation was deep. And that was what he had hoped for, they cut through the first lines easily, however as the momentum of the charge was lost so was their advantage.

Pushing forward was difficult but easing back was not and that was what his men did; their retreat was very slow. The simply didn't push, he knew it was an easier concept for him than the Dothraki who believed in speed; but they did it. Letting their opponent charge forward without realizing it, slowly giving up ground and giving their own men space at the gate.

It was slow, at times they were gaining more than he wanted but finally Jorah yelled in Dothraki. "Go now!"

The cry was picked up all around him, and the hollers and cries turned to the order, passing it down the line as every screamer repeated his command. Two lieutenants and their men gave out and retreated as his men fanned out, holding their position as the other units bought themselves enough ground to get a good charge; circling around to flank their opponent.

He saw the moment when the sell swords realized they were surrounded, Jorah and his men turned tail, swinging out to join the flanks squeezing the sell swords forward. They drove them over the rise, any who fell behind or tried to hold their ground fell under the Dothraki's arakhs.

As they crested the hill Jorah looked back to see a unit behind them head for the gates; the smoke signal from the tower above beckoning them onto the bridge. And then forward as the last of his men appeared at the top of the next rise; they had the upper hand now.

Jorah stayed with the charge down hill and the fight that followed; it was an unpleasant business. But they held their swords and refused to yield, he could hear the surviving commander calling his men to continue fighting. Did he not see that it was over?

Jorah had once fought under these commanders, in the days after he was exiled. But then the men in charge had been more concerned about being paid than fighting; they let the men they hired fight and die. He had been hoping they would surrender and save their lives.

But that didn't happen, and when the last few finally did, Jorah stared over the field in disgust at the waste of life. Twenty thousand men reduced to less than five thousand out here and many of those injured, these men had been fighting for gold, not Queen or country; they had died for nothing.

Exhaustion was creeping through him as they herded the prisoners back towards the towers; the battle here had been over for some time. The Unsullied came out to take over their charges, Jorah sent men to move the camp forward but as he dismounted one of his lieutenants called to him; pointing upriver.

"Where is the Khaleesi?" He asked, there was a small party sailing down the river, he could see a number of different banners flying in the boat; this could mean one of two things.

Giving orders for Daenerys' horse to be brought out he intended to find her but barely stepped through the gates of the tower before he saw her. She came down the stairs quickly, he saw Tyrion trying to keep up with her. "Khaleesi, there may be a situation…"

She did not stop in front of him and Jorah was slightly surprised as she wrapped her arms around him; her arms tight. When she did step back pretty green eyes shone just a little and her voice held a demand. "Are you hurt?"

"No." And he realized he had never told Grey Worm of his side of the battle; they'd drawn the battle into the hills where the towers would not have been able to watch the result. "The towers are yours, what is left of the Golden Company has surrendered."

"Good, so they can be executed." Tyrion muttered under his breath, earning a glare from them both. "I am sorry your grace, you mentioned a situation?"

"The lords of the Riverlands are coming." He bristled, both at the title and the man's side comment; was Tyrion trying to play them against each other? "I believe you should go out to meet them Khaleesi."

And if they rode Tyrion would be forced to follow another way; he did not have a horse here that suited him. She nodded and moved forward, as he turned to follow, she dropped back, squeezing his arm again for a moment. Jorah frowned slightly; she had been upset by all of this.

In truth he had expected her to be annoyed with him, she would not have known what was happening at different points today. And yet she'd been worried, he gripped her knee as she put her foot into his other hand; pushing her up onto the horse before mounting himself.

A unit each of Dothraki and Unsullied followed them as they rode down to meet the small boat at the dock. He saw her glance at him as he took a spot at her right side, just a pace behind her; there was white cloth tied to the banner poles.

The noble families of the Riverlands stepped from the boats and their banners followed; one stepped forward to speak. "Your grace, we come to pledge our allegiance to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Daenerys nodded and they watched as the head of each house knelt and pledged fealty to the Queen, each told her where they came from. Jorah listened quietly, the unrest in the region had wrested the Riverlands from the Tullys as it had this stronghold from the Freys; it was only these smaller houses that had survived. Her reign was sweeping steadily south, these lords would not make her take this land.

"In two days bring your men and join me at the Twins to feast." She addressed the group and dismissed all but one; the man to announce their purpose and the first to kneel. "Lord Mallister, you speak as a leader."

"The Riverlands want peace, your grace. I want to see my sons become men and fathers; not corpses in a civil war. You offered peace to the North, and you marched your army to help them." The man murmured.

"I offer peace to you as well. How old are your sons?" Daenerys asked.

"Fifteen and fourteen, they are nearly men now." And if war came to the Riverlands the boys would have a part to play, the man knew that.

"I am sure they will become fine men, like their father." She murmured, letting him go.

Jorah wondered if he knew where her mind was going, the Riverlands needed a new Warden; the Twins needed a family to man it. And he knew she would like the man who had the courage to lead the other houses to her.

He rode back with her and started to veer off to check with the Dothraki lieutenants; she stopped him. "Jorah, I would speak with you."

"Yes Khaleesi." He nodded and dismounted to follow her, glancing to the men that fell in with them as they entered the stronghold.

"Your grace, is it true that you intend to execute your prisoners?" Varys asked as soon as the door closed, Jorah felt his gut tighten and saw her gaze slide to her master of whispers. "Is there no other way?"

"They have no loyalty to me; they have no reason to fight for this country." And she could not win their support as she had the Unsullied and the Dothraki who fought for this country because they believed in her.

As Tyrion protested, suggesting they be paid Jorah was silent; he already knew she would not take that. Her army was built off of her leadership, she would not agree to keep the sell swords in chains any more than she would release them to return to Cersei. But he also knew it was not a choice she made easily; it was one she made because she could not see another way.

"Exile them." Jorah spoke quietly, interrupting Varys and Tyrion; both men fell silent and he looked at her. "Khaleesi do not continue to use your dragons as executioners. You can banish them, if they return to Westeros execute them; but today let them live."

"How? I do not have men to spare to return them to Essos." She sighed, but he saw the idea take root.

"You have the Lords and resources of two kingdoms at your disposal, men who want peace. You have a castle and a position to offer as a reward for the work." He suggested, knowing she was already thinking about what to do with this castle; she needed to offer something to which ever leader she chose for this kingdom.

"And I have a ship bound for East Watch." She whispered, nodding slightly and he saw the relief in her eyes.

He saw relief in the eyes of the other men at the table but the warmth he felt towards her was not shared; had they learned nothing from watching her? She lived in a world that demanded she be harsh, as a woman she fought harder for respect but there was a gentleness inside her; that was what they needed to encourage. Varys had made a weak attempt, but even the spider had seen the weakness of other suggestions; offering an option that insulted her did not help.

"Tyrion, will you make the arrangements?" Daenerys instructed quietly, and they all knew the meeting was over.

But she stepped in front of him as the others left, after a moment they were alone, and she stepped close again. She stood close, and he waited, it was becoming harder to keep going now; it had bee a long day. He wanted to reach for her, he had been glad to see her safe, but he had been able to fight believing she would be.

Hesitantly he rested his palm against her cheek, green eyes had that shine in them, and he feared she might cry; it had been a difficult day for her as well. Her arms slid around him again and he rested a hand against her hair for a moment before wrapping the other about her shoulders; surprised her reaction was still so strong.

"I couldn't find you after the Dothraki crossed the pass." Jorah swallowed hard, had she feared the pass had fallen when the gates opened; he had hoped she was in the Northern tower.

"We had to pull them away from the gates, and their heavy artillery." He murmured, trying to reassure her now. If the sell swords had destroyed the bridge their forces would be cut off from each other with no hope of reinforcement. He dipped his head, resting against her hair and holding her just a little tighter. "And you have the castle intact, now the Riverlands too."

But she stiffened against him and Jorah frowned, immediately he let her go as she pulled back. "I wasn't concerned about the state of the castle."

Feeling a little lost he watched her go, rubbing a hand over his face he sighed; he'd put his foot in it. In some ways he could read her easily, but the push and pull she teased him with was frustrating. He knew politics were at the root of it, he knew how to advise her, but her actions were difficult to read; especially when they were alone.

He had expected a level of distance, perhaps it would be easier if they did not share quarters. Then when she wanted him to join her at least he could gauge what she expected; instead she was always temptingly close. It would be easy to reach for her often, yet he had long known that was not something she wanted and since she'd gotten her way, she did not desire him.

But in other ways she pushed, into his space, his past and into secrets he had worked hard to keep. And she listened, it left him struggling to find a balance for what she wanted. She would curl into his side sweetly, but she didn't push for more, and he didn't want to cross a lone. But he wasn't sure she wanted more than an alliance, and perhaps more than a marriage of convenience; he wasn't sure what that was.

He had thought it might be easier, she'd made her point in Winterfell and on the march, that she would want her space now; but she didn't. Jorah was tired and grubby; he had washed before going up to the tower room and found she was already there.

Missandei had been here, her hair was loose around her shoulders and he swallowed hard; she knew he liked that. He wanted to go bed and sat at the small table for a moment, picking up one of the scrolls there, he could feel her watching and when he looked up, she stood in front him; he did not have energy for games tonight.

"Are you sure you don't want your privacy tonight Khaleesi?" He asked quietly, she wore the thin slip she slept in and it left little to his imagination.

"I believe we have plenty." She frowned when he picked up another scroll. "Those can wait for the morning."

He set it down slowly, she would curl deliciously against his chest in the bed but offer nothing more and he would fight the urge to roll over her, taste her; and take the sweetness she tempted him with. The thought shamed him, and Jorah forced himself to focus; it took only a moment to realize what she wanted.

Quietly he opened his shirt and reached for his blade, they had been apart several days and whatever it did, he knew she wanted it. She used the same spot on his shoulder but today the wound had sealed completely, he shifted to his wrist only for her to reach out and nudge his hand back to the first spot; he opened it with the tip of his dagger.

And closed his eyes as she invited herself into his lap, he suspected this was a large part of why she wanted him so close; but it was a sweet torture. He was waiting for her mouth to press to his skin, instead he felt the brush of her fingers and found her opening his shirt.

"You said you were not hurt." She murmured the accusation, unaware of what she was doing to him as she shifted back to look at the bruises on him.

"It is nothing Khaleesi." No one came out of battle unscathed, that he had only bruises and scrapes was victory enough.

Green eyes hardened, but she dipped her head, catching the trail of blood that had run down his chest; Jorah only closed his eyes again. Her hips rolled and his hands clenched a moment before he put them on her hips and lifted her a little; there was a limit to what he could take.

He was fixed with a glare as she wiped her lips, and her weight settled into his hands. "Can you only use my name when you are within me?"

Surprise rolled through him and her weight settled back into his lap; her hips immediately rolling forward. But surprise was followed by annoyance and he let his hands fall back to his sides; she had done this before. "It is a habit."

"Do you not want me?" That glare faltered and he saw a genuine fear in her eyes and Jorah flinched. "Your body says one thing, but you do nothing about it. I ask of you and you tell me of battle and politics."

"Khaleesi, I told you what I thought you should know..." He started and then sighed; she was fully aware of what she did to him and of what he felt for her; but her accusation was not fair. He tried to respect her boundaries, he tried to let her set the tone; it was getting him no where.

Immediately he knew it was the wrong thing to say, again. She slid from his lap, and she did not look at him as she went to the other side of the room. Jorah sighed, he did not have the energy for this right now, he could not sort it out tonight. Taking his sword belt and his coat he turned for the door, if there wasn't a chamber to use, he would sleep in the camp tonight.

"Do not leave!" Her voice carried an order that he would have obeyed an hour ago. He would have lay next to her, let her curl into him; but he'd had enough.

"What do you want from me Daenerys?" He asked quietly, he was trying to do what she wanted; but clearly that was not helping.

When she was silent, he left, he would face the consequences of it tomorrow; perhaps he would convince her to see sense. Either way he found an empty chamber and fell asleep almost as soon his head hit the pillow.


	13. Chapter 13

It stung as he walked out but finding him sound asleep hurt a little bit more; until she realized how soundly he slept. He was exhausted, he barely stirred as she eased down to sit on the bed beside him, tonight had not been the time to push him. He had been on edge for days, even when they rested in the camp at night, this was the first night he had a chance to sleep easy.

But she hadn't been able to sleep, Jorah had never ignored something she said; he had never walked away from her. She had been patient; she had tried to encourage him, but he was closed off to her. She had been afraid of what had happened to him today, and he'd proven her fears were well founded.

Daenerys sighed, tonight should have been a celebration, they had the Twins, and a kingdom had willingly acknowledged her; Cersei Lannister no longer had a mercenary army. Instead he had pulled away, he had validated the fears she had; he did not believe in what they could have.

She did not sleep well that night, and in the morning, she knew her friend saw it, though she was kind enough not to ask bluntly. Instead Missandei rubbed her scalp and gently brushed her hair before beginning her braids. "You did not sleep well."

"No, not well." Daenerys murmured, lifting her eyes to meet Missandei's gaze in the fogged mirror. "Jorah was not himself last night."

"I don't think any man is after a battle your grace." Her friend replied softly, if only her words rang true.

"I did not help things, he needed rest, he wanted peace and…." She wanted him to see that she had been afraid, to hold him and comfort him. "He slept in the room at the end of the hall."

After the Khal had fought, after Daario had fought, they had made their intentions clear; but then neither had been subtle about what they desired. Jorah was, neither of those men would have ever stood beside her if she denied them, but that was part of why she had asked Jorah to marry her.

"Your grace, Grey Worm has been through many things, unspeakable things as he was forced to become a warrior, but he is gentle with me." Missandei spoke quietly, her fingers working quickly down through one braid before starting another. "He would never do anything to me he was not sure I wanted, you know the time it took for us to become close, to know I accepted him as he was. It took much longer still for us to find a balance."

"Time does not seem to be helping us." A balance was what she needed, between what was private and public. But being close did not seem to be helping as she had hoped it would; however, there might be something to glean from her friend's experience.

Still when she went down to the yard that morning, she spotted him easily, though it was only because she knew him; he walked among the inured. And she swallowed hard as she saw him pause, an injured man was struggling to get up; Jorah took the man's arm and hauled him to his feet. Daenerys watched the look that passed between the two men; Jorah hadn't settled into their marriage or his title; he was one of very few who was not changed by such a title.

Daenerys watched from the steps for a few moments, watching as he walked through the camp; eventually he finished his round. She felt his eyes on her as he walked back towards the tower to meet her on the steps; she moved towards him.

"Khaleesi." He greeted her quietly, but she heard the determination behind the word. "There are many injured, but spirits are high; word of the Riverlands' surrender has encouraged them."

"Do you know anything of Lord Mallister?" She asked, turning back into the stronghold.

"I don't, that may be a question better asked of your hand. I do know they are not a wealthy house, during the Ironborn uprising their keep sustained heavy damage." Jorah stayed a stride behind her, but he followed. "He knows the houses and their connections, even the minor ones."

Daenerys nodded but as they entered a chamber, she reached back to draw him forward, so he stood beside her. Perhaps she needed to clarify things for him, she had made promises she intended to keep, and she knew what she wanted.

"I intend to offer him the Twins, and to name him as Warden of the Riverlands." She had yet to discuss her ideas with her counsel, she would hear his opinion privately first; he would have that right. "I will ask that he march my prisoners to East Watch and guard them until they can be returned to Essos."

"That will be appreciated, but he will need the support of the other lords; many men will be required to secure such a number of prisoners." Jorah nodded, his eyes scanned her, and she knew he was thinking about it.

If the man was to be the Warden of the Riverlands he would need to command the support of the lords of that kingdom and he had already spoken for them. But she believed him when he spoke of his motivations, the Riverlands bordered the Southern kingdoms as well as the North; they had seen many battles and felt the cost of each.

She listened as he updated her on more of what he had seen in the camp, and his impressions on their strength. He spoke comfortably of the army, numbers and strength; projections for marching South. She had sat with him for a countless number of these reports, but he did not mention them; or what had happened last night.

"It will be good to settle somewhere at last." She murmured, her eyes scanning his face; she wanted him to settle as well.

"We will march south as soon as possible Khaleesi." He meant that to be reassuring.

"Daenerys." She tried again and saw irritation in his eyes, she tried to soothe it; reaching for his hands. "Please call me by name when we are alone. I would rather hear it from you than any title, and none have the right to correct you."

"Daenerys." He murmured, his eyes on their joined hands. "I have called you Khaleesi for so long that it is a habit, I do not mean to insult you."

"I am not insulted." Daenerys stopped him quickly, squeezing his hands. "But I want you to return to our chamber."

His nod was quick and as soon as she let him go, he was up. "I will speak with Grey Worm and review the route, then I need to check on the prisoners below."

Daenerys nodded; she had half a mind to tell him to delegate one of those tasks to another, but she didn't expect that would help. He acted comfortably as a Commander, and as an advisor, perhaps it was a good thing the title didn't change him; he would be a different sort of king than Westeros had ever known.

…

Jorah sat at the high table next to the Khaleesi, the hall boomed with activity as the meal began, a girl who seemed too young to be serving came forward to check on the Queen's cup. His wife smiled warmly at the girl who quickly retreated as she turned her attention back to the discussion on her other side; she had been rather pleased to find a Lady leading one of the smaller houses.

Lady Sienne, Lord Mallister's younger sister had taken over the leadership of her husband's house when he fell in the siege of Riverrun. That some of her men had taken issue with that had not phased the brunette who had come forward to acknowledge the Queen as the head of her house; and voiced her curiosity at the Queen's Dragons. His wife seemed relaxed and Jorah thought it might be the first time since she came to this country that she met a woman she did not have to face off with; one who seemed delighted to listen to her talk about the dragons and simply talk to her.

Any time the Queen paused the woman followed up with another question, nodding in support as she spoke about considering the huge creatures her children. Perhaps finally speaking with a woman who did not see her as a threat, or at least was eager to entertain her. Jorah used the time to survey the room, making small talk with the man beside him as he watched the lords and their bannermen enjoy the celebration.

He doubted if most of the lords here particularly cared who was on the throne, they only wanted peace. They wanted to hunker down and survive the winter, to watch their sons grow up rather than send them off to die every time the Warden called his banners.

The child returned to check the Queen's cup every few moments, though Daenerys had yet to touch it, but Jorah frowned when she darted away rather than refill the man beside him. It was an older girl who came for it, nearly tripping over the child as she made her way down the table; a look of confusion on her face as she glanced after the little one.

Jorah's eyes tracked the young girl and he found her against the wall, watching the high table intently; there was something in her eyes. And when the Queen reached for the cup she trembled like a leaf. Lady Sienne distracted her again and Daenerys withdrew her hand, Jorah tensed; something was not right here.

Silently he took his own cup and tipped it back, the older girl came forward and filled his cup from the pitcher she had been offering to everyone and Jorah made no move to hide his action; switching cups with his wife. His eyes scanned the hall to see if anyone else was watching the table so intently, but in the crowded hall it was impossible to tell; though he did note two men paying no attention to the table.

Turning the cup in front of him he watched the child, then slowly raised it to his lips; color ran from the child's face. Jorah did not drink, but he scanned the room again, he knew of one man who liked to use children as his spies; but he was not alone in that practice.

Easing his chair back a hand landed on his knee, and he saw a warning in his wife's glance; Jorah gave her a weak smile. She was having a good time and he hesitated to ruin the night for her; he spoke very softly. "I will be back in a moment Daenerys."

With her nod he took the cup and slipped back to where Qhono stood; switching languages he told the man his suspicions. As he crossed to lay a hand on the maester's shoulder the Dothraki lieutenant went to the girl; deftly blocking her escape.

"I need to know if there is poison in this cup." Jorah told the man when they were beyond the hall, he stood so the man faced him, but he could still look into the hall; so he could see the Khaleesi. "One of the Dothraki will bring you a jug of wine; it must be tested as well."

He saw the man's face pale slightly and with a nod the maester shuffled off down the corridor. Jorah returned to the high table, but he was tense the rest of the night; he watched carefully what the Queen consumed. And his eyes roamed faces, looking for anyone paying her too much attention, the problem was many were curious about her and they glanced frequently; but he was looking for something more.

Any time she took a sip of wine he scanned the room, shifting to see the faces at their table as well. The night dragged and he was grateful for the lady beside her, she was distracted and didn't seem to notice his concerns; or that a few more Dothraki had found spots along the wall. He made eye contact with a few, as much in thanks as warning; he didn't want a scene here. Especially if this came from someone close to her.

At last she rose, the meal over and people began to retire for the night; a certain part of the crowd would likely continue for hours but they would move from the great hall soon enough. Jorah slid his chair back, resting a hand lightly at the small of her back, now that it was finally over, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

"Could you at least pretend to enjoy it?" There was irritation in her voice, and he dipped his head; she had seen his relief.

"I believe it went well; your guests seemed content." There would be someone who disagreed with that statement, their night had not gone to plan; but if he found them it would be their life they needed to worry about.

"And Lord Mallister? You two barely spoke." She sighed.

"We spoke of what mattered, he is honored at the appointment and will confirm arrangements for transporting prisoners before the march to King's Landing." Jorah dipped his head; she might not have noticed what he was doing but he was fairly sure the Lord at his other side had, the man had kept their conversation light.

She nodded and was about to say something else as the maester rounded the corner; Jorah knew before the man said a word. Clearly the man had understood his urgency as he was slightly breathless when he spoke. "You were right your grace. The cup and the jug were pois…"

"What cup?" Daenerys demanded, looking between them; he saw the realization hit her.

"Khaleesi you are safe." He reassured her calmly. "You did not consume any of it."

"I was drinking all night." Her voice barely a whisper.

"From my cup, filled from a pitcher that was served to everyone else at the table. You are safe." He promised. "The poisoned wine was removed from the hall early in the night, I should apologize to Maester Santen for taking him from his meal, but it was a precaution worth taking."

"Quite right your grace but no apology required; I serve at the pleasure of my Queen and my King. My Queen worry not, the meal had hardly begun, the King had it removed before you could be harmed." The maester murmured, dipping his head again.

It was the second attempt in less than a week and Jorah knew she would be thinking of that. She had handled the first with remarkable calm, but then had known they were marching to a fight; towards mercenaries hired to stop her. He suspected she would feel differently about this.

"Khaleesi, would you call your council? We should speak to the child and their insight might be useful; at the very least they should be aware of it." If they weren't already.

Her nod was stiff and with a hand on her back he guided her down to the room where Qhono held the girl. She was processing it and she might struggle privately but as she entered the chamber her initial reaction was hidden; Jorah wished life had not her to do it so well. But the child trembled as they entered and he saw the slight reaction in her eyes as she saw the girl; behind them the door opened again.

Jorah watched Varys and Tyrion enter, watching for their reactions as they took in the situation; he noticed the open surprise on the eunuch's face. It caught him off guard and the man took a step forward, squinting in the lamp light.

"Eva?" The man murmured.

"You know this girl?" The Khaleesi demanded, fire in her eyes. "Do you know what she's done?"

"Yes, your grace. I know her and I have been informed of what she's done." There was a hing of emotion in the man's eyes, his voice somber as he glanced to the child again. "But you are a wise woman your grace, you know this child is only a tool used by another."

Jorah was silent, either the man was clever enough to reveal his reactions, he had expected masked reactions. Hoping that he would have been able to discern the truth, Jorah knew the man dealt in secrets and spies; he was a skilled liar.

"To destabilize me whether she succeeded or not; a little girl guilty of treason. My enemies would celebrate if she'd succeeded, but they will spin my response either way. If I let her live I look weak, sentence her to death cruel; a tool chosen carefully no doubt." Anger had crept into her voice and she turned to look at the child again. "Your employer has sent you here to die. Are you content with that fate?"

"Your grace! She is a child." Tyrion started forward and Jorah eyed him, did he hear the ice in her voice? She was angry, but more she was offended, the child was not truly in danger but who ever had sent her would be. "A child coerced into such a situation must be punished, but not at the cost of her life."

"I knew Eva in King's Landing, your grace." Varys spoke quietly, cutting Tyrion off. "When I joined your counsel some of the little birds in my employ disappeared, children do. I lost contact with them, but they are the children of the realm, of your kingdoms. Children without means, often without shelter or even food; thy are the ones who need you most."

"Have you used your little birds to kill? Have you made children into murderers in the name of the realm?" The Queen countered quietly; her eyes were cold as she stared at her advisor.

The man did not answer, and they all knew that was an answer in itself. She turned to leave, and Tyrion immediately followed, no doubt ready to argue his view. Jorah started after them but paused at the end of the hall; Varys stood quietly in the doorway.

He would never fully trust the man; Varys had once offered him a way home; a way to go home without telling the truth. But he had not been able to complete that task, and in different ways that had brought both of them here. Jorah understood the purpose of Varys' role; information was vital to the Queen's rule; it did not change the past.

"When its poison everyone suspects the eunuch." Varys muttered, still eying the child huddled in the corner of the room; then the man looked to him. "Never that young, not like that."

Jorah nodded, his eyes scanning the sadness in the man's face; Jorah believed him. But it was hard to know the man's motivation, Varys claimed he served the realm, but the man held not lands and would father no children; yet he had served on the small council of each ruler before pledging to the next.

"She is from King's Landing?" He confirmed, looking between the man and the child; he nodded. "How did she end up in the Riverlands?"

Varys turned to look at him and Jorah met his eyes for a moment, he'd witnessed one of the Spider's assassination attempts firsthand. Had it come from the hand of a child it would have been more likely to succeed; and this conversation would have gone very differently. A child might be a useful tool but poor children did not easily travel between kingdoms, the distances were too great; whoever sent her likely had a hand in that.

Jorah slid away, leaving the man to his thoughts as he was caught deep in his own; heading for the bed chamber out of habit. When he opened the door Missandei stood behind the Queen, he nodded to the woman as he removed his coat.

"Thank you." Daenerys murmured as her friend lay the brush down and left.

As the door closed Jorah shifted to untie his boots; he glanced up to find her standing in front of him. Jorah met her gaze as she reached out, her palm running along his cheek; he saw the pain in her eyes. He wished he'd told her in a gentler way, she had been enjoying her evening and she had every right.

"I should be thankful my husband looks after me so diligently." She whispered, nudging his knee down as he set his boot aside, making a place for herself and curling into his chest. Jorah gently rubbed her back as she nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder. "You have always guarded me so well."

He swallowed hard, that she was upset was understandable; but now she let him see her distress and Jorah held her a little tighter. It was not the first time and they both knew it would not be the last; perhaps not even when she had the throne. But he would do all he could to see that none succeeded, to see that she was safe.

That night she curled into his side and Jorah held her close, it would have been easier if they had been attacked on the road, or in another's keep instead of at her own table. Jorah drifted to sleep thinking it through, his initial concerns did not sit easily now and that left him considering other possibilities; none were good.

But he felt her shifting next to him, her face no longer buried in his shoulder and he rubbed her back; initially thinking to soothe her. It wasn't comfort she wanted, at least not in that way; tonight her intentions were clear.

She moved enticingly against him as her hands roamed, and he returned the need in her kiss. He did not push her but nor did he refuse, matching her desire and rolling her beneath him in an exquisite give and take; watching her come apart before giving in to his own release.

Pressing a kiss to her temple he intended to shift himself over, but her arms locked tighter around him; and there was a plea in her voice. "Don't move, just hold me."

Jorah shifted onto one forearm, his other sliding beneath her; rolling them both so she sprawled over his chest. He didn't mind that request, she felt good in his arms and the fact she slept there gave him an odd sense of satisfaction; she must feel safe.

He lay awake for a time, his fingers running absently through her hair; his mind did not want to settle now. Perhaps she was right, he was used to guarding her but try as he might he could not put a face to last night's threat; there was too much he did not know. Yet it was no longer so easy for him to wander about and ask the question he could when he was only her guard; even though he was pushing that title to see how much give he had. He could not as the questions he wanted, not in a keep where all had seen him at her side last night; in a bigger place he might be able to become anonymous enough for it.


	14. Chapter 14

Daenerys wandered down to the chamber where Eva was held and left her guards at the entrance to the corridor again; too many people would likely make the girl fearful to talk. The child was young enough to raise sympathies but old enough to be capable of the task; and therefore, old enough to understand her situation. She would make the girl tell her what she knew.

But as she approached, she frowned at the man who stood in the doorway; Daenerys wondered how long he had been there. His eyes had an empty look as she slid past him and closed the door; unsure of what to make of him. The girl cowered in the corner, big brown eyes watching her every move.

Tyrion and Varys had plenty to say the other night, and as though he understood that she needed silence Jorah had only held her. But she had to face it for herself and looking at that little girl she sighed; she would try again today.

After several attempts she had yet to get the girl to say a word, and again the food someone had brought for the girl sat untouched. The child was in self imposed torture worse than anything she intended. "Eva, you have a choice to make and it is an important one."

The child nodded uneasily, big brown eyes studying her though the little girl trembled. No, this child was not some hardened killer, this was a little girl who was doing what she needed to survive; the problem was what to do with her.

"Do you have a family? Parents or anyone to look after you?" Daenerys asked gently but all she got was a head shake. "Who asked you to go to the feast that night?"

Another head shake, the same as the day before. That was all she got, with every question the child trembled and shook her head. It got her no where, Daenerys left feeling as frustrated as when she arrived. Either the child had been taught not to speak or she was too scared of her yet.

Varys still stood in the doorway and eyed her silently as she left, Daenerys did not stop to speak with him. He accused her of being cruel, but he used children as more than spies, he made them assassins; he turned them into that little girl to keep his own hands clean. Did he see how damaged she was?

And it was not lost on her that the eunuch was responsible for bringing Jorah into her life for similar reasons, that had not turned out as he had planned; but she knew what Jorah had lost. She knew the bait that had been dangled before him, a chance to return to the home he should never have lost, the bait he'd turned away from to protect her a long time ago. What did they use to motivate that girl?

Was it simply food and shelter, or was there more to it; something that kept her silent? Then there was the question of what to do with her, she was only a child but to punish her was complicated. Tyrion found her that afternoon to discuss it again, but it wasn't until that evening that she brought it up for herself; it was her decision and the child had tried to kill her.

"What would you have me do?" She asked quietly, shifting herself into his lap; Jorah quickly reopened the wound near his collarbone.

He was careful to keep it clean, but the roughened flesh seemed to respond differently, it healed faster and did not build a thick scar even though it was continually reopened. Daenerys rested her palm against his ribs as she dipped her head to the wound.

"Who ever arranged this had less than two days to pull it together, the child must have already been serving a purpose here." Jorah spoke slowly, his hands rested lightly against her sides; but she glanced up to find him watching. He looked away quickly as he continued. "I think it is safe to assume she is working for the Lannisters in some way, my bigger concern is who might be handling here. There has to be a reason to use her rather than find a local child."

He paused as she pressed her mouth firmly to the cut, swallowing the blood that welled into her mouth. After a moment she closed her lips and held the pressure to stem the bleeding then wiped her mouth. She had gotten used to the taste, and it was comforting to ease into his lap; she would like it more if he would just relax and hold her.

But it must still be strange to him, knowing it was his blood on her lips and that she wanted this; that she needed it. It showed on his face for a quick moment as he watched her check the wound and he pulled back in his own way; continuing his report. "I would suspect she was up here spying on someone else before this opportunity presented. There will be some houses strong enough to concern the south, there will be others who may still quietly support the Lannisters whatever they tell you; they won't decide until the war is over."

He stopped as her hand crept up to his cheek, silently asking that he looked at her. Her fingertips ran over his collar bone and along the wound, forcing him to hold tight enough to keep her steady. Her hands ran over his chest, the contrast between scar and skin did not bother her; but she knew it bothered him.

Deep blue eyes landed on her, and she could feel him fidgeting beneath her and he continued the report again. "She might be worth keeping close, children notice more than many realize; if she's spent most of her childhood a spy there is not telling what she might know."

"You don't like it when I touch your scars." She observed, her voice soft and she saw confusion in his eyes, that was good; she wanted him off guard.

"Its not something you should have to see." He murmured.

"And if I want to?" Daenerys countered, her palm running down his side. "Your scars prove you have survived, because of that you are beside me."

"I do wish I could change the past, that we could have been honest with each other long before Mereen; that things would have been different." She saw him frown, and quickly cut off anything he was thinking of saying. "I can't change the past, but we do have a future."

She cupped his cheek, there was more she couldn't quite bring herself to say, there were moments when looking at him forced her to look at the consequences of her choices. No, without his absence she wouldn't know what it was to miss him, to rely on others or know what he had offered for so long. Yet had he made a different choice, had he not come back and stood in that arena she might not be here today; but that was not the first or the last time he had saved her life. And still, he did not lay blame on her, he did not turn from her; but she wasn't sure he trusted her either.

"Daenerys…." Jorah whispered.

She swallowed hard, searching his face and trying to see what he was thinking; hoping he would say something. But Jorah was silent, his eyes were on her and he held her a little tighter. After a moment she pressed a kiss to his cheek and rose; certain things were harder to say.

How did she tell him he was the only reason they might ever have a family? That she wanted the life she was not meant to have, along with the one they marched for. Jorah slowly fixed his shirt and in the moment his attention was off her she sighed. She feared if she told him that any ground she was making would be lost.

…

Jorah stood at the Queen's side as they watched the men of the Riverlands march out with the prisoners heading East, soon they would need to be marching themselves. He was not convinced that the final leg of their journey would be simple, the farther south they marched the easier it would be for the Lannisters to get spies and scouts close to the Queen's forces.

He would be surprised if the child was their first attempt, but he doubted she would be the last. And that made the child vulnerable and valuable, if they could get her talking. It was a topic that never seemed to be far from them, with the counsel or in private.

Jorah shadowed his wife as she went down the hill to check on her dragons, the creatures seemed restless today as though they sensed it would soon be time to move again. But they seemed to relax her more than anything lately, and she walked easily between them, stroking their great snouts and being jostled as they vied for her attention.

"Do you think she will ever tell us why? Or who she works for?" His wife asked quietly, she had spent the morning trying to get Eva to talk; or eat.

"In time." Jorah murmured, he suspected there was no particular reason on the child's end of things, but that was not the thing to say now. He had a feeling if one of them was to get through to her it would be the Khaleesi, the child eyed him and Tyrion with fear, and trembled at the sight of the soldiers; her reaction to Varys was different. But so was his to her, Jorah hadn't figured out what the child represented to the Spider; there was something there he was watching closely. " We need to earn her trust."

"How am I to earn her trust when I cannot even earn yours?" She replied quickly and Jorah frowned; had they not put the incident after the battle behind them? "You don't trust my council, and I accept that; I understand that. But we have more than politics between us, or we could."

"I trust you Daenerys, and I don't distrust your counselors. I trust Grey Worm…" She gave him a look of pure annoyance and he paused; glancing at his feet for a moment. She knew he trusted Grey Worm, and she knew his confidence in the Dothraki; it was hard to turn men who had chosen her as their Queen.

"I respect Tyrion and Varys, I know they are good at what they do, but until you are on that throne, until I am certain they believe in you; I am cautious. The Spider has served many kings, and turned on them when it suited them, whatever promises he has made to you I wouldn't doubt he has made similar in the past and his motives are hard to know." Given the man was not a Westerosi, nor tied to any house and never would be. The Spider was an excellent spy master, but Jorah knew full well that meant he had ties and connections in all corners of the world.

"Tyrion may have good intentions, he has a mind for politics, but to go against his own house; his own sister- it is not an easy thing. And he has spent time in the capitol, he knows how the games are played; a decision made in anger can be difficult to carry out days- years later." Jorah murmured; he had no cause to believe either man had betrayed her; but they were moving into range where the temptation would only grow.

"She put a bounty on his head." The Khaleesi fired back, but her voice wavered and he knew she was considering several of her Hand's past judgments, and she recalled them all first hand; it was Grey Worm who had updated him on what had happened in his absence.

"You once banished me." Jorah murmured, considering something else. "Because I chose to lay my honor aside to go home; to go back to my family."

That he hadn't been able to follow through with that was because of her alone. Had she been different, more like her brother, or like her father they both might have had very different lives.

"You chose me." She whispered.

"I did, and I came back to you." And while he knew they had buried those years in the past Jorah would never forget. "I don't believe he has set out against you, but the Lannisters are a powerful house, they will recognize that they cannot beat you in the field; it would be better for them if you never reach the capitol. Whatever has past between brother and sister, he has a powerful place on your council, and they will try to use that; whatever his choice, they will try."

"Then they will fail." There was finality in her tone and Jorah tensed, that was a good thing; but she needed to be careful right now.

Tyrion would be useful if they could keep him on her side, but Cersei was his blood; and blood could forgive a great deal when pressure was applied. It was a time to keep the man close, to show him he was valued; even if he was watched closely. Tyrion was enough of a politician to expect that, hopefully he was enough of a man to understand it; and to realize his family would likely try to use him.

She turned from her children and stepped close to him; Jorah tried to read her face as her palm cupped his cheek; it was something she liked to do lately. "Know that I trust you."

Jorah swallowed hard; he wasn't sure what she wanted in moments like this. She could switch directions fast enough to make his head spin, something in her tone told him they were no longer speaking of politics. She seemed to like flipping between questions of politics and strategy to personal comments without warning; especially when she was close to him.

She had done it to him this morning laying in bed and the past several evenings when she settled into his lap; her fingers deftly opening his shirt. The gut reaction to pull back was fading, he hated the pain that flashed through her eyes when he recoiled; but he was not sure what she was trying to get from him.

Jorah spent the rest of the afternoon with Grey Worm, preparing the camp to march and reviewing the possible strategies for when they arrived. This last stretch would be difficult, they would be in the South and keeps were closer together, people lived in close quarters and travelled more. The Lannisters would certainly be informed of their movements; the question was their response.

"Will they attack on the road, when we are in column?" Grey Worm asked, as they reviewed the route, for the marching Unsullied it was in the long narrow column they were most vulnerable.

"Possibly, but it would be foolish. We'll be marching as one army; with two fully grown dragons flying overhead." Jorah's eyes roamed over the map, eyeing a place just before the foothills of the mountains for a camp. "We out number them, and we'd overpower them, they are smart enough to stay behind their walls."

If they tried to attack on the road they would fail, the Unsullied would lower their shields and spears while the Dothraki charged up and down the lines. The Queen's army would suffer heavy losses, but the Lannisters would lose far more men. And what was left of their army would march on King's Landing with force before they could muster enough men to properly defend the city; after the wars of the past few years all that was left were boys. He had no desire to make war against lads.

"Then we go over the walls." Grey Worm said calmly, speaking as though that were a simple strategy.

Jorah only nodded; it was more likely they were going to be forced to lay siege. Tactics here were different than in the East, no champion would come out to meet them and they had already overthrown the hired mercenaries; they would be met by men fighting for their homes and country. King's Landing had been built for a siege, surrounded by water and mountains the city had natural defenses even before the ones men built; in Winter it would be even more difficult to hold the line.

But there was a distinct disadvantage as well, their army would not let the people out of those walls. With a huge population, limited fresh water supplies and minimal stores the city was heavily reliant on trade and supply trains that arrived daily. Cut those off and the city itself would begin to turn. The challenge would be managing the ports and Jorah had an idea for that.

Leaving Grey Worm to his own plans he played with the man's suggestions as he returned to the chamber; sometimes it was not about having the numbers as much as it was having the right angle of attack. There were certain advantages to having roamed a little in the years after he left Westeros. He'd fought with sell swords for a time, men from all nationalities, he'd seen the hordes of the Dothraki go to war and the great walled cities responding; before that he'd fought in Westeros in the Grey Joy Rebellion. All battles fought a little differently, just as the men who opposed each other were different; the trick was to learn from them.

The thought gave him pause though, there were very brief moments that he could recall when he hadn't been fighting in one way or another. Even at home, long ago on Bear Island they fought to survive, and they battled the poachers who tried to steal the few supplies they had. Would there be peace after the Khaleesi took King's Landing?

He hoped for it, and yet he was faced with an unsettling reality; it was in peace that the true political game would begin. And he would have to learn a different way of living, he would not be able to disappear into a military campaign, nor would there be the goal to work for; he would have to stand beside her as a king.

And he was going to have to be careful, even as they approached the goal, he was going to have to mind himself. They were no longer in the North, and the South was not known for supporting women, politics was viewed as a man's world. Yet it was his wife who would rule.

Jorah wanted that, he had believed in her ability as a ruler for a long time, he had watched her begin to grasp it, to learn it and weigh her decisions; she was good at it. Yet even in the North, where the tradition of warrior women lived on, it was not easy for a woman to lead a house; generally, she did because she was the last option. And often was then encouraged to marry.

His stance would have to be clear and firm from the first, Westeros was going to have a Queen; and a king consort. There would be no question of it, he would not be used to undermine her, lest their enemies find a new way to trouble her.

Jorah startled from his thoughts as he opened the door and quickly started back. Daenerys soaked in a large tub; steam rose from the water as Missandei sat nearby; the two had been talking. "I am sorry Khaleesi…"

"Wait." Her voice stopped him, and Jorah hesitated; he had not meant to intrude. They would be on the road again soon and it may be quite some time before she had the comforts of a castle again. "You don't have to leave simply because I am in here."

Jorah nodded, he still felt a little uneasy but moved to hang up his weapons and his coat before settling at the table on the other side of the room. He intended to focus on the paperwork he should have done already and compose a missive to be sent by raven; but guiltily he did steal a few glances.

Daenerys was beautiful, the swell of her breast rising above the waterline, head tipped back as Missandei carefully braided her long hair; she looked rather like a contented cat, enjoying the warm water. When her gaze landed on him Jorah guiltily looked back to his work; but he felt her watching him.

…

As she reached for her horse's reins her husband rounded, bending to rest a hand on her knee; offering the other for her to step into. Daenerys let him give her a leg up into the saddle and shifted to find her seat, glancing at the man who rested his hand against her thigh a beat before turning towards his own horse.

She counted last night a win; she'd had his attention though he tried to focus on his work. And ever the gentleman he'd been embarrassed to be caught, but he hadn't been able to help himself from stealing a few more glances and Daenerys had welcomed it. No, it was not him physically reaching for her, but she knew he had wanted to.

If she had wanted privacy, she would have let him leave, and he knew that; she had wanted him there. It felt wonderfully normal to have him around as she went about her evening routine, though if things had gone her way he might have given up on his paperwork. But with Jorah it would have to be small steps, in the week they had been at the Twins she had gotten him to open up a little more; giving his opinion sometimes more than a report.

And he'd agreed to go along with her on one other thing. Jorah swung easily onto his horse and then reached down, lifting her would be assassin onto the saddle in front of him. She'd yet to get the child to say more than two words, but Daenerys was not giving up.

Eva rode South with them, not as a prisoner, though she would be carefully watched; but as their ward. Daenerys had needed to wash last night after insisting the girl be bathed; after Missandei told her of the child's scars. She knew what it was to be the outlet of someone's rage, though her friend had known far worse; they both knew the marks and it made her skin crawl.

She shouldn't have been surprised that the child had been beaten, not with the way she cowered; but it certainly changed the situation. It was less and less a matter of what the child had chosen to do and what she'd had to do to survive. What someone would make a child do to protect themselves.

If someone wanted to paint her a cruel ruler, they would be sorely disappointed, that child had been a slave though she wore no collar; the girl would go free. And when she finally spoke the Queen's justice would rain down upon all responsible for what had happened to her. For what they had tried to make her do. Daenerys had said as much to her council, gaze upon her master of whispers.

The man had nodded in agreement, but she was not sure of what had flashed through his eyes, it was not fear nor guilt, it might have been approval. But it did not matter, Eva rode in front of Jorah and she knew the girl would eventually recognize the safety of being able to lean against him. At some point the girl would have to realize that they could be trusted, that they would protect her. They would take her South as their ward, if they could find her family she would be returned home; if not she would remain in their care.

It was Jorah who wanted her visible, to let her employers see that she lived and that she was treated well; to make them worry. He'd ignored the idea of her riding with someone else, she knew he wanted to force those responsible to look at him too; Daenerys knew he would be watching. As the column moved out, he reined in beside her and she saw the girl looking up at him, Daenerys felt her heart clench a moment; someday she wanted to see their own child ride with him.


	15. Chapter 15

They rode across the Riverlands and south towards the capitol with little incident, but as they passed through the small communities closer to Kings' Landing the child hid her face in Jorah's chest. Her husband watched the faces of those they passed closely, in his armour, sword on his hip and at ease on the horse she knew any who recognized the girl slunk away quietly.

The child still said little, though she seemed to understand that they did not intend to hurt her. Jorah stayed close to he, still standing as though he was her guard and they kept the child close to them. The army moved all day, from the time they left camp until the time they made it, and the girl had begun to eat. Where she and Missandei gently tried to encourage the girl or tempt her, Jorah had simply given her a chunk of bread and left her to hold it as everyone ate their food on the march. She'd simply held it most of the afternoon, but Daenerys saw her nibbling at it occasionally; it was likely harder to ignore when it was in her hands.

The days were long, and they made camp only to rest, the army was not phased by the march; knowing the battle for the throne lay at the end. She hoped it might be the last battle, with much of the South under Lannister control when pretender fell so would those kingdoms; many of the great houses that had once led them had also faded; some by the Lannisters own doing.

"Daenerys." Her husband murmured as they road twisted through the foothills of the mountains; she could see glimpses of the city. "We will make camp here. Beyond that hill we will set our lines."

She nodded and let out a soft sigh; it was beginning then. Ahead of them the Unsullied were staging behind the hill, Jorah moved from her side, leaving the child with another soldier before he went to Grey Worm; they made plans as the long line fell came together.

When the long line fell in, they mounted the hill and Daenerys watched her men move into formation. Row after row of Unsullied stood ready as the Dothraki milled about on either flank, their war cries shill and high. The formation blocked the road and nearly the whole of the pass, at least on land.

With the mountains rising behind them, her dragons appeared from no where, soaring high over the city; far above the spears and heavy weapons that tracked them from the battlements and out over the sea. Their point was clear, they were not bound to the ground on which they stood, and those walls were not impassable; not for her dragons.

Before the massive city gates a great mob crushed forward though the doors were barred against them. Terror reigned as the weak and young were pushed underfoot and to the side lest be trampled as they desperately tried to enter the city that symbolized safety. These were the poor, laborers from the fields and small communities outside the city and likely half starved as winter's grip became tighter. Did they know they would fare better than those behind the walls?

High on the walls and heavily guarded there was a platform and Daenerys recognized them from the council held in the dragon pit; where the pretender had sealed her fate. Had she come North, honored her word and fought for the kingdoms she now claimed, stolen by her husband Daenerys might bear her some mercy.

But she had not, and now she left the poor to become the first victims of this battle; one they had no part in. Tyrion and Varys appeared, clearly their cart had arrived, and she saw their reactions to the scene before them; Daenerys eased forward to where her husband stood.

"We must negotiate, one more time; offer her the chance to surrender the city." Tyrion had followed. "Cersei has a reason to live, and the child she carries has no right to the throne. It was the Baratheon, her husband who took it, and their sons through his name. Exile her, she knows her fate if the city falls; to save her child she might…"

"No." Daenerys cut him off. "Her answer is before us, she wants war, she will have one. But they do not, they want rain for their crops, food for their tables and children who get to grow old. And Cersei Lannister will take those dreams from them today."

Jorah glanced to Grey Worm and both shifted, her husband stood at her right side and her commander on her left as they started forward. Two Unsullied unites parted smoothly to let her pass; those at the gate turned to watch as though waiting for her to command her troops forward. Likely she would not lose a man, but it would be a slaughter.

"Your Queen would let you die on her gates." Daenerys raised her voice as the horse halted just in front of their lines, Jorah had given her reins a sharp jerk and she nodded to him; knowing he was calculating the range of the archers on the wall. "You did not ask for this war, but today you choose a side. Pass through my lines and return to your homes, my men will not harm you. Or stand between two armies hoping those gates will open for you."

The people in front of the gates milled nervously, and those pushing at the gates paused; turning their attention to the units of Unsullied who were parting to create paths between them. And the first few who began forward were women and children, fear leading them to take the offer of protection.

And then an arrow fell from the walls, a woman leading her children forward fell dead and Daenerys's eyes rose in shock. Did Cersei truly intend to kill them because she would not? They took up no swords, they were not warriors or knights; they did not have to die.

"She cannot do this." Daenerys whispered as even more arrows fell, some were hit, others raced back to press against the wall; and some stood frozen.

"Get back, stay behind the lines Khaleesi." Jorah ordered; she saw the disgust in his eyes as he looked to the Unsullied commander. "Shields up."

With a nod Grey Worm gave the order. "Dovaogēdyr sumby naejot!"

The Dothraki screamed louder, their horses circling, distracting the archers on the wall. Moving as one the Unsullied raised their shields, locking them together above their heads and started forward. She turned her horse back but watched, Jorah stayed with the Unsullied, a hand on the shoulder of one soldier who he stayed close to; staying under his shield.

But the Unsullied reached the gates, and while she could not hear what he said he convinced the people to take cover under their shields. Arrows fell, but they struck shields and could not break through, as if joined the soldiers backed away from the gates. Her dragons returned, the beat of their wings and first blasts of fire sent the men from the walls; scrambling for safety rather than trying to fight. But it bought them time and the lives of her people, the Unsullied assembled at the top of the hill and Grey Worm began giving orders for his men to begin siege works.

The civilians cowered before her as Jorah returned to her side, she reached out to touch his shoulder lightly; thankful he had thought quickly. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons. My husband, Jorah of House Mormont, King of the Andals and descendant of the First Men. Protector of the Realm. I have come for my birthright and my people, I will not harm you, nor will I let you die in a war you did not ask for…"

She broke off as those in front of them began to curl to the ground, she saw a man pull his small child closer as they realized it was their king who had come forward for them; she did not have to ask them to kneel. Though she felt Jorah tense next to her as she gave his title, he might not like it, but they were joined and while he might flinch at the words his actions spoke loud enough.

The people dispersed, fading back through the hills as they returned to their homes, and her husband led her horse into the camp that was already being built. Daenerys slid from her horse as the men of her council appeared again, she sighed, and they turned towards the tent where the maps were already being settled for the council.

"You do know the risk you take in releasing them your grace." Tyrion cautioned as soon as they entered.

"They are not soldiers." Daenerys murmured.

"No, but they have seen your strength and the camp, they know exactly where we are." Tyrion argued.

"They would have to get through their gates and past our lines to attack us from the front or Drogon and Rhaegal from the rear." Jorah said dryly, she saw the irritation in his eyes as he watched the man.

"What would you have done with them?" She asked Tyrion. "The poor are the ones who need me most, the ones who have always been crushed beneath the wheel that has rolled forward for generations."

"They can offer you no support. It is the Lords of Westeros you need to draw to your side, try to negotiate with Cersei." He pleaded, but Daenerys did not miss the sharp look on Varys face as his eyes slid to Tyrion. "To win this war you need the great houses by your side, the small folk will follow."

"I was not raised in the safety of the great house I was born to; the rebellion saw to that; I was moved from place to place and city to city to continue living. I am the last of my great house, I began without an army, without advisers or wealth or dragons and I am a woman, not meant for the throne, not meant to live; and yet her I am. Tell me again why I need any of the houses that turned upon my house in the past?" Her tone measured, she hoped all heard the danger in her voice. "I turn away none who come and bend the knee, I will break bread and build alliances with any who return to their true Queen; but I do not intend to continue the old way. I will not let the great houses buy the right to abuse their small folk, I will not rule by crushing the weak."

"In every war the weak will die, if you lay siege thousands will die in the city and it will not be the Lords. Storm the gates and thousands will be caught between your men and Cersei's." Tyrion fired back, but as he stopped speaking silence fell; Daenerys glared at her hand.

…

Jorah stood quietly for most of the council meeting, he eyed the men on either side of the table; he stood at the Khaleesi's shoulder while Grey Worm stood further down the table. When a long silence fell, he broke it, briefly laying out the battle plan, at least for tomorrow.

"We will send units of men around to guard the gates by the sea; to prevent them from reaching their ships. The beach of Black Water bay can be held, the rocks give good cover for archers. And send scouts to get a lay of their defenses." He glanced to Grey Worm, this plan had been confirmed when the gates were closed, and roosters were being drawn up for the various shifts and watches.

"We will get a better view from the sky." The Khaleesi murmured.

"You cannot be risked." Jorah murmured softly, and he needed to see them for himself; he wanted to see the weapons and men that they faced.

"You will ride with me." She replied quickly, Jorah nodded, various battle strategies had been discussed with her each night in camp; she was not to wait idly while men won this war for her. No more than she intended her council to rule for her, no, they had decided on a few courses of action depending upon what they faced. "Then it is settled."

The council was dismissed and as he stepped from the tent, he noticed a flock of birds take flight from a nearby tree; Jorah stayed at his wife's side. He'd seen the horror in her face as the arrows fell and he knew the pleas Tyrion made for negotiations and the nobles fell upon deaf ears.

There was some truth to it, the more of the nobles that came to her side the easier the months after this war would be; but their Queen would never negotiate with Cersei Lannister now. And he had noticed something else, along with the Lannister's guards on the high wall stood several finely dressed sell swords.

Too far away for him to see the faces clearly, he recognized the shining armor and cloak, now he knew why the Golden Company had fought so long; the Generals who took the gold had remained safely in the Capitol. It would have been the ranking Commanders with eyes on more wealth, advancement and glory had led the men forward; they might have been warriors, but they were not the businessmen that counted the coins, thinking of the Golden Company's reputation and personal gain.

No that made a little more sense, but it also meant Kings' Landing was guarded by experienced generals and men with a strong sense of self preservation; it was certainly something to think about. Tomorrow they would know much more, but tonight he eyed his wife who moved stiffly from long days in the saddle, tense and upset at what had transpired today as they walked back to where her dragons rested.

"I can open those gates in a matter of moments, but she will sacrifice the whole of the people without a care if it keeps the city for her. Women and children who never asked for this war, people who have never taken up sword or shield and cannot voice for either side." She murmured, stroking Drogon's great snout as her eyes roamed over the great beast she loved. Drogon and Rhaegal had easily sent the archers running for cover with their flames; but he had seen the heavy weapons that could potentially kill her dragon but would certainly kill their rider.

"Daenerys." He whispered, drawing close to her and he could clearly see her pain and knew she had been debating this day for a long time. "Rest tonight, let us get a better lay of the land tomorrow, we will find a weakness and do all that is possible to protect your people."

She turned suddenly into his arms and Jorah did not hesitate to wrap his arms around her; gently resting his palms against her back. Even though they rode long days on the march each night she had curled against his chest to sleep and in the mornings, she settled into his lap to take his blood. Jorah wondered if she was discovering what it was to be able to seek comfort without expectation, more and more she would reach for him to be held or in subtle ways; as though checking that he was there. He was learning what she liked, and what she was used to; but he did wonder if that was simply what she knew and already had.


	16. Chapter 16

In the morning he approached Drogon, climbing onto the great dragon to mount behind his wife; it would only be his second time riding a dragon. And as she shifted to tuck herself down between his chest and her dragon's back Jorah breathed a sigh of relief; her body sheltered between his armoured frame and the dragon's scales.

Jorah wrapped his arms around her and found purchase on the scales as the dragon began to move; launching into the air. They soared into the air and banked towards the city, Rhaegal on the right wing in the gray overcast day; it was a good day for them to scout.

The dragons soared high through the clouds, dipping to find themselves over the city wall and he took in as much as he could before they rose again. Platforms had been built at intervals, some with scorpions and others with catapults; it had taken some effort to build the heavy weapons upon the high walls.

They rose again and banked to the left, staying high for a while before dipping again and he frowned; along the water the space between the platforms was greater. Though the gaps would be filled with archers and sword men should their forces approach, but Jorah wondered if there were enough soldiers to defend such a long expanse of wall.

On the rocks he struggled to spot their men, hiding to watch the gates and ports; but that was for the best. As they soared out of the sea, she dipped low and Drogon rode the wind for a long moment; until a great bolt flew past them.

He heard her sigh as she urged Drogon higher and they rode up into the clouds for cover. But farther out they dipped again, and he knew she was looking for something, gripping the dragon tightly with his thighs he chanced to shift his hand to her shoulder; he would help if he knew what she was looking for.

"Theon Greyjoy left to save his sister; I've heard no more of either." She called, and her tone told him she suspected what had happened to the siblings; Jorah had known of Euron Greyjoy who now controlled the fleet.

It was old Balon's brother who had burned the Lannister fleet in the Greyjoy rebellion Jorah had last served in and then the man disappeared for years; clearly, he had returned to create chaos again. But he knew something of ships and eyed the vast fleet at anchor in the bay; watching the sailors who were searching the skies for them.

That day the dragons returned from the flight to rest in the hills, Jorah climbed down and offered a hand to her. The siege line was quiet, their men were instructed not to fire unless fired upon; men worked hard to dig the lines. Their teams were in position at the other gates using whatever cover they could find; though in spots there was more space between them and the gates than was ideal.

Each morning he mounted behind her again, what they saw on the walls was always much the same but with ever pass that they did not rain fire upon them the men on the walls grew bolder; eager to fire the scorpions at the dragons and holding their posts. Now they had the Dothraki making charges, racing up to the walls with their archers firing high into the sky before retreating; though they struck very little. But that was what he wanted, they were only watching, learning their enemy's layout and strengths; Jorah noticed that more guards stood on the walls of the Red Keep than on the wall around the poorest section of the city. And in the courtyard of that castle a barracks for a large host had been built, it bustled with life; they garrisoned their men at the center of the city. He knew it was a contingency should the city fall.

When the next day they did not attack, nor the day that followed he could see the frustration rising in the Khaleesi; she wanted action. But they were shoring up their lines and tightening their grip on the city, every gate was covered now, trenches were dug to prevent any heavy cavalry charging into their ranks and their heavy weapons had rolled into place.

But the city had now been several days without supplies or trade, and he didn't know if their march south had caused any disruptions earlier. In many ways it would be easier for their forces, they had a good sheltered camp and were well supplied even if they had to battle the elements, this had nothing on their Northern march ; it was those within the city walls who would suffer in a siege. Yet he knew if they stormed the gates just as many would die, if not more and those in Command were too smart to be drawn into an open battle.

Jorah was updating the war table when the bright green explosion lit the evening sky, and news reached him soon after; the first scrimmage had come. A part of Greyjoys forces had tried to make for the ships, archers had fallen on them quickly and the Lannisters had launched pots of wildfire from the walls; engulfing the rocks where their archers sheltered. None survived, the explosion severe enough to destroy the cover they had been using on that gate.

He was certain the time would have been used, and now the Lannisters would have heavy weapons and ships of supplies coming to break the siege. Jorah went to find his wife and her counsellors. He sensed her anger as soon as he saw her, the fire in her eyes; she wanted action. He saw how the men of her council watched her too, and Jorah wanted to growl; the time to sue for peace was long gone. The time to debate politics for the future and the right or wrong of the past was gone; that had been determined the day they arrived at the walls.

"If the siege lines are held the city will riot, the army will be forced to divide their attention between the city at their backs and us on their gates." Tyrion argued, the man did not like her suggestion of burning the ships at anchor or turning the dragons upon the gates.

"And who dies then? Not the soldiers who will stand against us." The Khaleesi countered coldly. Jorah knew it would not sit well with either the Queen or the army if they simply held the lines now.

"If we can take the gates from the inside it would change the field." He spoke softly, every time they circled back to using the dragons in the war, back to how to attack.

The two men balked at the idea of using the dragons in the war, but when he suggested a battle plan the men had a different response. They tried to steer her, to push their ideas when the results would be little better than what she suggested; in war there was no better way. Not until it was over.

Neither seemed to see that she wanted this to be over, that she wanted advice; but she refused to accept weakness. Their Queen had never been afraid to do things that were difficult, even if they seemed impossible; not if she believed they were right.

"Take the gates from the inside and we take the city; we lay siege directly to the Red Keep. We lay it on our enemies and not the people who cannot chose." Jorah repeated himself.

He had been to the capitol only a few times in his life, he had been here in the wake of the last war; as a part of the Northern host who followed Lord Stark. He had seen this city fall, but he knew she intended to do it differently. And he had seen it recover, he'd been back after the Greyjoy rebellion was put down; King Robert had held many tournaments. But they had two men who had spent years in the city, dealing with its secrets and knew much that the past monarchs would like kept silent. But both men were quiet for a long moment.

"I know of one route, but I cannot confirm it will be open as I left the city some time ago, and with the siege even my little birds are struggling to fly." Varys answered cautiously, gesturing to a rocky section of beach.

"We'll take it." Jorah nodded, if not it would be matter of going over the walls. He did not comment on the fact only one route was proposed; it was past time these two understood their role.

…

There was something dangerous in Jorah's eyes as he watched her advisers, no longer guarded his gaze dared the challenge he continually tried to keep her from. It seemed her husband grew tired of playing peacekeeper and listening to excuses, lies and foolish battle plans.

Daenerys had ignored Tyrion's suggestions on the latter for some time now, it was Jorah who planned their efforts and she knew he liked to work with Grey Worm. Twenty of her men had died today, died by fire and she was sorely tempted to avenge them; the Lannisters would wish for wildfire by the time her dragons fell those walls with their flames. And Euron Greyjoy's precious ships would burn too, for Yara; for the ally who had sworn to her and been taken prisoner by her own traitorous relative.

But it was Jorah's voice joining Tyrion and Varys' that kept her from it. They did not know the Greyjoy's fate and falling the walls would kill thousands more than the soldiers who manned them. It left her feeling helpless, any route they took spilled innocent blood and Cersei Lannister would let the city burn; she would throw the innocent before her army without hesitation.

"We also have to assume the fleet will be armed now." Jorah added, moving a few more pieces into the harbor. "They broke our line and unless Euron turns, those ships will run supplies and keep us from establishing a line; they'll have heavy weapons."

"If they fire on us, they will be taken out." Daenerys said firmly, her eyes met his, her dragons were not simply to be used as threats; they could turn the tide in any war, and they would reduce the number of men she lost.

With her advisors looking uneasily between each other Jorah and Grey Worm decided each to lead teams at daybreak. One would attempt to breech the city through the secret passage and the other would take men up the walls in the poorest section of the city where the guards were thinnest.

Daenerys decided the meeting was over and she turned to leave, Grey Worm fell in a pace behind her. It was only as she stepped out of the tent that she noticed Jorah did not follow. Pausing Daenerys glanced back through the gap in the tent flap, Jorah still stood at the head of the table and when he spoke his voice was so low, she barely caught his words.

"You want a Dragon Queen, yet you would cut her claws, bind her jaws and extinguish her fire." Her husband glanced between her advisors. "But she will never let you."

"Fire kills." Tyrion replied darkly and unnoticed Daenerys glared at the man.

"It also cooks your food, heats your home and forges the steel we fight with. You have seen the good in her or you would not have followed her here." She saw the glare he gave those men and her heart tightened; he defended her with words just as well as he did with steel.

"The good does not always outweigh the bad, and we've all seen the Targaryen madness; the gods flip a coin with every babe born." Her advisor murmured and she fumed.

"And you think the kings we hail as great were meet and mild? Or is it because she is a Queen?" There was ice in his voice; it was a tone she'd never heard him use and somehow it softened the insult she felt. "She is a dragon in her own right, fire and temper go with that, but she is also clever and good. You spend your time trying to bend her to your will and you will always fail. Like the creatures she loves she will not be controlled. Learn to see her vision, urge her towards it and she will listen."

Jorah cast a last look at both men and started for the tent flap, Daenerys did not back away, she saw surprise in the faces of all three; but she reached for her husband. Swallowing hard as he looked slightly embarrassed, she didn't care and reached up to kiss his cheek quickly.

Whoever else she might doubt, and no matter what they would do, she had one man who believe in her wholeheartedly; who supported her right to rule. And he was the closest person to her, Daenerys could not define the sense of safety that gave her.

When he fell in step beside her a look went between him and her Commander before Grey Worm slipped away. She felt his hand come to rest lightly against her back, but he let her lead and Daenerys chose the privacy of their tent. As they wove through the rows of tents, most looking identical she frowned; Jorah was distracted. She followed his gaze to find him watching a bird surreptitiously; when she glanced over it took off and disappeared into the maze of tents.

"Thank you for what you said." There were moments when those meetings became frustrating and the reality of what she risked struck home, moments when she simply wanted to end it. But it helped to know there were men here because they believed in her, and while Jorah might deny his own strength in politics he had come to her side in part because he could see what Westeros needed; because he wanted something different for their country. "I remembered why you told me to get an army of Unsullied. You've never struggled with the idea that a woman could rule."

"And you found a good way to do that. I've seen you lead; I've seen you rule…" Jorah whispered as they stepped into their tent.

"When we've taken the whole of Westeros how many will want a Queen?" Even her own advisers would rather listen to Jorah.

"They will see their Queen, they will fear her, but they will also learn to love her; and I will be first to kneel." His hand cupped her cheek and she leaned eagerly into it as he ducked.

She felt the roughness of the stubble on his cheek and for a moment she thought he was going to pull away; then he turned. His mouth pressed to hers firmly and Daenerys savored that kiss, and the fact he had reached for it. He would be fighting tomorrow; he would be in danger and she could not ask him to stand down; no matter how much she wanted to.


	17. Chapter 17

Before daybreak they rose, and she watched him pull on his armour as Missandei braided her hair back; her chest felt tight. She knew how dangerous it was to go over the walls, the men would be vulnerable until they made it up; and then they would face the enemy head on.

He would not be first up the wall, she had told him that, and passed it on to her lieutenants. Pulling on the fine leather coat she'd had made Daenerys rose, sending Missandei off to see Grey Worm before the men moved out. She drew close to her husband, her fingers tracing the cold metal of his armour.

"I will see you tonight…" She started, seeing his quick nod before breaking off as a guard called from outside and she bid him to enter.

"Your graces, she said she had something to tell you." The guard murmured, a hand firmly on Eva's shoulder to guide her forward; before retreating to wait outside.

"Please don't burn the Red Keep." The little girl stuttered, tears tracking down her cheeks.

"Why?" Daenerys asked firmly, they had spent days trying to get the girl to talk with little success; why choose now? For a long moment the child remained silent and she realized something; the child had no cause to be afraid for herself. The girl had been silent knowing her own life was in danger. "Who lives in the Red Keep that you care for?"

The child's eyes went wide and then she squeaked an answer. "My sister."

Daenerys glanced at Jorah and she saw his grim nod, it made sense. Varys had said she was an orphan; Daenerys knew how valuable family could be when there was no one else. And Eva was young enough to believe her sacrifice would be enough to keep her sister safe.

"Who sent you to the Riverlands?" Jorah asked gently.

"Lord Qyburn." Eva whispered, eyes revealing how she feared the man; they both knew who he was. "I was a cup bearer there for a long time."

"Lords and soldiers leave a keep but the small folk stay. Who looked after you in the Riverlands?" Her husband followed up, but the child froze. "They will not hurt you now."

Eva was silent and she could follow Jorah's line of thought, one of the Riverlords was not as loyal as they claimed, the child had been in play for some time before they arrived; perhaps spying on those who held the passing for the Lannisters.

"What is your sister's name?" Daenerys asked quietly, hearing men marching outside the tent, gathering for the battle that needed to be underway before the sun rose.

"Fiona." Eva whispered hopefully.

She glanced to her husband and they both nodded, the odds of finding one child in the city were slim; especially considering she did not expect Qyburn to have kept the child safe. But they would watch, and perhaps having her sister beside her again would make Eva feel safe enough to tell them more.

Turning the girl back to the guard she stretched up to kiss Jorah's cheek before they parted, him to the front while she went mount Drogon. Today Kings' Landing fell, today she would take back the throne of her ancestors and the Kingdoms they had ruled; the ones they would pass on to their own children. And it was that thought that firmed her resolve just as much as it scared her. But her children would not have to fight so hard for their birthright.

…

He watched the tender moment between Grey Worm and Missandei that morning as the teams gathered. He had kissed his wife hard this morning before they parted, her to the dragons as he made his way forward to find his team; he would take a unit of Dothraki over the walls with the horde for cover.

Grey Worm was taking a unit through the tunnel, hopefully they would meet on the walls before the perimeter could be reinforced. The horde was mounted but for his unit and they moved out as the whole of the army formed up before the gates.

Jorah's mind flicked back to the child who feared for her sister, there were hundreds of thousands within that city who were afraid; and they had good reason to be. While the Dothraki had been instructed not to harm civilians, and the Unsullied did not need to be told; he knew the Lannisters would not hesitate to use them as shields.

The sun was just beginning to rise on what they hoped would be another grey winter day. The horde circled and charged around the rows of men carrying ladders forward. They heard the calls of the night shift, raising the alarm and shouting for archers to take their posts.

While he could not see them, he knew the Unsullied formation was marching on the main gate and hopefully Grey Worm's team would be in the shelter of the caves; finding their way under the walls. But the echoing alarm came to late, Jorah braced his shoulder against a ladder leaned up the wall and looked to his right, seeing other men doing the same; a warrior scrambled up each. Arrows rained down, but they stood pressed close to the walls their enemy struggled to hit them and the Dothraki fired back. At the main gate their heavy weapons heaved stones over the wall.

Men raced up the ladders and those who made it slowed the onslaught that was coming down on their heads. And then he heard the dragons' screeches overhead; it was a perfect storm. The men on the wall were not sure which threat was more pressing and the seasoned leaders weren't there yet.

Jorah was tense waiting for his turn, it did not sit well that he had been forbade from being in the first group up. His broad sword would be far more effective than the curved blades the Dothraki carried; his wife had still refused. And reluctantly he obeyed, but when it was his turn, he scaled the ladder as fast as possible; putting his feet on solid stone.

Taking the wall was its own type of chaos, they pushed out to gain ground as soldiers flowed up the stairs; trying to slow their progress. The Dothraki screamed as they fought, men screamed as they died, falling from the walls or under swords as Commanders arrived; shouting at men to mount the walls and throw back the invaders.

But they would not be thrown back, they were gaining ground slowly but surely and as he heard more heavy weapons, he pushed his way down the wall; trying to get a look out over the bay. Catapults and scorpions were trained on the caves where Grey Worm's team had hoped to breech; Jorah looked down the expanse of wall and the fight that barred his path.

The dragons banked towards the bay and he snarled looking down to the streets below; the Unsullied had breached the front gates. They had the city, the Lannisters would either surrender or fall back to the Red Keep; but it didn't matter. Let them try to hold the Red Keep, it was a weak position and in time it would fall.

But those ships could do damage, and they were well manned; if Cersei Lannister chose to flee Daenerys would never be safe. And suddenly the sound of assault paused, Jorah had to focus on the fight he was in; trying to force his way down the wall. But when he looked up again, he saw the weapons turning, trying to take on a new target as a barricade appeared; black sails with blood red dragons appeared at the mouth of the bay.

Too far away to see the ships themselves Jorah knew it was the Northerners, they had brought the Queen's ships south and as the dragons set the Greyjoys' fleet alight the ships under the dragon sails closed in to block any escape. Jorah breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the fight on the wall.

Two of the Dothraki stayed with him, he did his best to ignore them; he did not appreciate being assigned guards in battle. But as one became pinned by a Lannister soldier, the curved blades could not penetrate armour plates and it limited where they could strike, he turned and slashed his broad sword across the man's raised shoulder; breaking through the mail that protected the arm. The horseman surged up and shoved the dying man over the wall into the stream of fleeing redcoats.

The battlements were extensive and the fighting in the streets below vicious; but it seemed the people of the city had the sense to hide. The dragons finished with the ships, had turned back and now took on some of the heavy weapons that were plaguing the men below from sections of the battlements they did not yet control. And the war went on.

Before midday the city was theirs but for the castle at its heart, and as they rounded up their prisoners his eyes wandered to those walls. They had to know there was no hope of staying in that keep, even if they had stockpiled food and supplies there was no retaking the city; there was no way out.

Prisoners were taken to the dragon pits where their forces gathered, where the Queen had urged her dragons to rest for now. The Northerners had come a shore led by Jon Snow, adding several thousand to their number; along with the Northern Lords who would see the new Queen crowned before this was done.

…

Drogon landed within the walls of the dragon pit, and Daenerys climbed slowly from his back; pausing to pull the arrows that had lodged in his scales. None were deep enough to hurt him, but they'd made him angry and it infuriated her; Rhaegal hadn't fared much better.

Her children were not seriously hurt, they had flown through so many volleys of arrows, dodged the powerful scorpion bolts and flown on. Circling the dragon pits she saw units of Unsullied beginning to patrol, and the long rows of Northerners streaming in; she recognized the banners. Smoke from the bay billowed, the Greyjoy's ships still burned; but they had fired on her men.

The fighting had gone on for hours, her men pushed steadily forward until they hit the walls of the Red Keep. The dragons had helped where they could, taking out the heavy weapons and driving the archers from the walls; keeping their enemy running scared.

"Your grace." A voice called from behind her, there were only a handful of people who would dare to approach the dragons; Jon Snow was one of them.

"You came south." She turned, tossing another arrow to the ground.

"We came to support our Queen, and we brought some of the supplies from Dragon's Bay." The man winced, offering his hand as she climbed down from Drogon's wing. "Sansa wasn't to happy with me for that; she had planned for it to last longer."

"I will take care of that." Daenerys smiled, she would ensure that trade agreement lasted, if this winter stretched on it would be important.

But there were many people in this city who had been starving long before they arrived. She had seen some, little more than skeletons in rags running for cover from her dragons; from the soldiers. Terrified and desperate they had tried to hide, but she saw them; she saw what had happened to them in this city and Daenerys piled the blame at the feet of the pretender who had ruled too long.

"They've sealed off the Red Keep." Ser Davos approached, he glanced between her and Jon as he gave a report. "The Northerners have joined the Unsullied rounding up prisoners and securing the city; moving the injured."

"Set up soup kitchens throughout the city, the people will come out in time; and clear a perimeter around the Red Keep. Cersei Lannister has done enough harm here." Daenerys glanced at the man; it was not over; but it would be soon. And it was time she started taking care of her people.

"While that is a nice idea your grace it is not feasible…"

"It is, my men know how to do it; they've done it before." Daenerys stopped him the slaves of Dragon's Bay had been freed, but it had taken time to create a system for them to support themselves. It did not need to be anything fancy, and it would only take so much of their supplies.

They would liberate the city's food supplies soon and trade would be restored; the city would get a new chance. The men were silent, and Daenerys hid her sigh, her eyes searching the activity within the pits; looking for her husband.

Jorah had been on the walls and the battle had been fierce there, but she could not spot him now; she didn't know if he had come in yet or not. She wanted to see him, to hold him and know that he was safe now. But something told her that was not going to happen; it wasn't done yet. And her dragons were stirring.

"We should get the lines set around the Red Keep; make them stay where they are." Ser Davos shifted uneasily as he looked at the prisoners who were being led into the pits that were still somewhat intact; they had captured quite a few already.

She nodded, there were plenty of troops in the pits, some could be redirected; this would not be over until that Keep fell. Jon and Ser Davos took some men and began forming lines and Daenerys spotted one of her advisers; but Varys had not seen Jorah.

Tasking him and one of Grey Worm's lieutenants with making arrangements for soup kitchens, the civilians would not venture from hiding for some time yet, Daenerys returned to her dragons. Mounting Drogon they flew up over the city, able to explore more thoroughly now, it was important to see the city; but in truth she was also looking for her husband.

Until the bolt of a scorpion arced through the air, it was perhaps the poorest shot at them yet; from the far corner of the walls and too far away to have any hope of hitting them. But it brought her attention to the Red Keep, the men on their walls; and they were not alone.

From the top of one tower, not far from the gates the Queen stood with her guards and advisers; eyeing the men who blocked the street. High above them Daenerys watched as they loosed arrows at her men, and as her dragons screeched; swooping down as the men on the wall spun to find them.

Drogon and Rhaegal soared around a great tower to confront them, but Daenerys hesitated to give the command; her men were too close. As archers ducked, hoping hiding behind the battlements would protect them, one man; a huge man near Cersei drew his sword.

The fool, there was no way a dragon would fall by such a pathetic weapon and as though insulted Drogon aimed for him. Cersei, and a thin man in dark robes scrambled for cover, the great fool swung his sword and Drogon closed his jaws over the man's torso as he flapped his wings to climb higher; shaking his great head as an arm, sword still in hand, flew off; a bloody mess of the man's lower half flew in another direction.

She saw the shock on Cersei's face as Drogon flew on, Rhaegal sent a blast of fire across a tower farther East; destroying one of the scorpions. Her husband's words flashed through her head, make single passes and redirect, so she did; whittling at their defenses.

…

Jorah rode through the city, carefully circling the Red Keep, he stayed at a distance, he could see the men on the walls; though they seemed fearful after the dragons passed. The gates were closed and likely barred, they had scorpions mounted on each tower, but he spotted something odd in the street; someone who should not be there.

And cautiously he followed, his gut tightening in anger as he watched the man pick his way through the war-torn streets. Annoyed when he lost him, turning a corner he found that people had begun to come out into the streets and on horseback Jorah was slowed by debris and the press of people.

Snarling he eyed the buildings and doorways, he didn't know the city well, but they were close to the wall. Jorah continued his search as the day wore on before returning to the dragon pits; he knew of someone who may know what he was looking for.

In the pits it was busy, camps were being built and injured tended, Jorah left the horse and moved on foot; trying to get his bearings. It seemed the only ones not present here were the dragons, but that didn't mean his wife wasn't around; and he did want to see her.

He found her in the council tent, but she was not alone, Jorah dipped his head as he entered, finding a place at her side; listening as Jon reported on the men stationed around the Red Keep. But her hand slid back, and Jorah glanced down as she found his and squeezed tightly.

Finally, it broke up and as the others left her hand closed around his again; when they were alone, she turned into him. Gently Jorah ran his hands over her back, her arms were tight, her cheek pressed to his chest plate.

"Daenerys, you will get dirty." He murmured, carefully trying to nudge her back; she lifted her head but did not loosen her grip. Jorah tried to wipe the grime from her cheek. "There is something I need to do."

"It can wait, or someone else can do it." Irritation flashed through her eyes and Jorah winced slightly, running a hand lightly over her hair; she was wrong this time.

"I need to talk to Eva." It was a sad state of affairs when he trusted the would-be assassin more than his wife's advisors; but he believed the little girl had a reason to tell the truth.

And an orphaned child living on the streets would not be allowed entry to the Red Keep through the usual channels; if there was a back way in, he was hoping she would know of it. Given Varys' suggestion had led to Grey Worm's team being trapped and fired on he was inclined to save asking the Spider's advice for a last resort; it was Daenerys intervention that kept the men on that team alive. Daenerys seemed to recognize the urgency in his words and yielded but stayed close to him as they went to find the girl.

"You don't need to do this. You should not do this." She protested when he had his directions and Jorah kissed her gently.

"Yes. I do." If what he suspected was true, then he would be the one to finish it; given he had planted the seeds for it long ago. "I won't go alone, keep the men on the gates tonight; when they open the Red Keep will be yours."

He took ten good men; they would open the gates under the cover of darkness; Jorah had something else to do. They crept through the passage and found themselves beneath the keep, he smiled to himself as he saw the great skulls that had supposedly been destroyed years ago; they were in.

Splitting off from the other teams he found his way up into the castle, creeping through the shadows to avoid passing guards. Hearing the clinking of armour, more than what one man would wear and moving fast he ducked through a doorway to wait until he heard a shout.

Either they had been discovered, or as he ducked his head something else had happened; guards ran past him focused on something ahead. Jorah let them get past and then followed, something was happening, he turned a corner and hustled down a short flight of stairs before pressing himself into the shadows; heart pounding.

He chanced a look and took a steadying breath; he needed one more. Something about that scene did not look right, it couldn't to the guards either who seemed frozen. But as Jorah looked again it did not change, Cersei Lannister lay with her neck gaping open in a pool of her own blood and the moment seemed to break, four men drew their swords and from beneath long black robes the dead woman's advisor drew his own. Jorah recognized that weapon.

Stepping into the chamber he drew his own sword, quickly dispatching the first man who wheeled around on him, and a second followed; Jorah jerked his sword free as Qyburn agilely dodged the blows of another before sinking the thin blade through a weak spot in the armour under a guard's arm.

With two hands the last man standing made to cut the ex maester down before he could withdraw the blade; Jorah rammed him hard from behind. They landed in a heap and the guard tried to roll over him to regain his weapon; Jorah slid a dagger from his belt to end the fight.

He recovered his own sword before he stood and eyed the man in black robes warily; ready to fight and intending to ask how he'd come to have that sword. But caution turned to shock as the man turned to look at him, reached up and peeled the wrinkled, elderly face away.

"I believe we've both paid a debt." Arya Stark eyed him with deep brown eyes before looking back at the dead woman. "Death came for her today, and she knew why."

He'd seen many things in his life, many he could not explain; but he looked at a teenage girl now. Moments before he'd seen an old man, he saw the face of the man in her hand. Had she not drawn that delicate sword he might have watched rather than fight, it didn't matter to him how Qyburn died; he still had something to do.

"She trusted him enough to meet him alone; and I had something to say." Arya murmured. "Take the keep for your wife and end this war, this was not about politics; she was on my list."

"Did she have any visitors tonight?" He tried to focus on his own task.

Arya shook her head and Jorah nodded, still a little stunned at what he had witnessed and yet he believed the girl. Perhaps a part of him was even relieved, that she had wielded that blade and it was not a trophy taken by another. He'd fought side by side with Arya Stark in the crypts, she'd saved his life in that battle, he wasn't sure he would bet against the girl, but the fight today had been easier with his sword.

They climbed the stairs together, exiting the castle to find the Unsullied and the Dothraki in the courtyard, men dipped their heads as he passed. Jorah stopped at the foot of the stairs as at the head of a group of Northerners, Daenerys entered.

Jorah waited for her in the yard full of soldiers, when she stopped her horse beside him, he offered her a hand; she took it resting her other on his shoulder as he lifted her down. For a second it was his turn to hold her close, up those stairs, in the throne room her goal waited; a goal she had worked so many years for.

"Is it done then?" She whispered, seeming reluctant to let him go.

"The war is over, there will be a few things left to take care of." He had not completed his mission, but he had more time now. Having swept south it was unlikely the other kingdoms would resist her; not with any strength at least.

"They will wait for morning; the rest will wait for morning." She murmured, he heard the relief in her voice, behind them the shouts of celebration had begun.

The Dothraki screamed and yipped, circling their horses and brandishing their swords, Unsullied beat a rhythm with spear against shield and the Northerners raised their swords. In the morning plans for her coronation would begin, she would see to that while he finished his own business, there was one man still notably absent; and then he had to see about finding one orphan in a city of them.


	18. Chapter 18

It felt a little surreal to walk through the Red Keep. Her ancestors had built this place, her family had lived here once, and her father had died here. It was that thought which gave her pause, how different might her life had been had he been a different man; had she grown up in the place with a family. Perhaps it would feel like home then, she wondered if she would ever find a place that did.

Men were sweeping the Keep, clearing it room by room and Daenerys explored a little herself. Pausing in one of the many great chambers. A corner room with many towering windows; perhaps not the master chamber but a fine one and well situated.

"This will be my chamber." Daenerys murmured, it was sparsely furnished, clearly not in use and she didn't mind that. "And Jorah's."

"I will get it ready." Missandei, ever organized turned to get some help as Daenerys roamed the space.

More lanterns were lit, the room was well maintained and took little work to prepare. A platform curved through part of the room raising the bed and a pretty little window seat up from a larger table in the center of the room and a bookcase on the wall by the door.

For a moment she sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, it was over now; but little felt different. This was another new place; it was no more familiar to her than Dragonstone had been and yet this was her homeland. She had seen the seat of her house, and now the throne that belonged to them; but this was about far more than a throne or title. What had happened here the year of her birth had changed that, and she would change this place; she would not leave it as her father or those who followed him had.

That night was long, Daenerys fell asleep before her husband came to bed, she woke to find him next to her; the castle around them oddly quiet. Missandei had opened the shutters to air the room last night, one stood ajar now; and a black bird sat on the ledge. Shifting she frowned, but as she rose for a better look the bird took flight and the shutter slapped shut.

It was enough to make Jorah stir next to her and Daenerys lightly rubbed his shoulder, dawn was barely breaking; he should sleep a little longer if he could. He was a large part of the reason that the war was over, and it was still sinking in, that the worst of it was done.

She knew there were many long hours of work left in this city left to struggle for too long and in the thousands of prisoners to deal with; webs of the past queen still had to be untangled. She knew she would have to rely heavily on him in some of those matters, but there were others she intended to handle personally.

Jorah did not sleep much longer; she had curled into him and she felt his arm slide around her. A moment later he was gently shifting her so that he could sit up, she watched from the bed as he crossed to the jug of water, pouring some out to wash his face before turning for his clothes.

She reached out, rising to her knees as he came to the edge of the bed, she took the blade he kept at the bedside table. Jorah was lacing his breeches as he stepped close, taking the blade from her. He made the cut quickly as she rested her hands on his sides; bringing her mouth to the cut below his collar bone.

There was a soft knock at the door, she knew it would be Missandei, but she also felt Jorah tense; she pressed the wound firmly and sat back before she called for her friend to enter. Jorah quickly turned away and pulling on his shirt as he went; moments later he made his escape. Daenerys only shared a look with her friend, Missandei knew exactly what they had been doing and was one of only a handful she would ever trust with her secret.

"Did you finish Khaleesi?" Her friend asked quietly, beginning to sort out what needed to be done with her hair.

"For now." He wouldn't deny her if she asked again tonight and she did not need to be reminded of the moon; she took no chances now . "We are home now; he will adjust to being here; we've spent most of our marriage on a march."

"This will feel like home soon, I am sure." Missandei murmured, but her voice lacked conviction and Daenerys glanced up. It was yet another new place for them all, but there was a history here for her, this was meant to be her home; she hoped it would someday feel like it for all of them.

"Did you find quarters you liked?" The castle was large and her circle small, she had told her friend to take her pick of quarters. "Does Grey Worm like them?"

"Grey Worm believes he should live in the guard housing." Missandei murmured, she saw a soft smile on the woman's lips, but she frowned.

"No, take quarters in the Red Keep." She said firmly, she would speak with him on the matter when she had a moment, Missandei would not live in quarters designed for men; and as her Commander he did not have to.

"Thank you, your grace." Missandei murmured, beginning the process of weaving the long braids together and carefully arranging them.

She dressed, leaving off her heavy coat, it was not as cold in the capitol and she would be spending most of the day in the Keep. Missandei helped her fasten the long-sleeved dress and once she was dressed opened the door so two of the Unsullied could bring in their things.

"Let me put these things away." Her friend offered, opening the armoire as Daenerys stepped through to the corner sitting area framed by windows.

She liked the view in this big corner room, on nice days they could sit out on the terrace and look over the bay, but the light filtered in making the room feel bright and airy. Smaller windows on the wall near the bed looked out on the city, those had been opened to air the room out.

"Should I leave his grace's things?" Missandei asked.

Daenerys only nodded, if Jorah did not see to them before the night came then she would; he carried so little with him that she wasn't sure he would like to have someone else unpack. She took a few moments before she had to steel her nerve and face the day, it was going to be a challenging one. And from the moment it began it pushed forward at a hard pace.

By mid morning her council had gathered for a meeting, Jon and his Northerners were around, they had kept their camp in the Dragon Pits, and were reporting on the damage done in the short siege as well as the limited resources they found; the city was not well prepared for the winter that was upon them.

The Unsullied were patrolling the city, setting up soup kitchens and working to establish a sense of peace as desperate people tried to make sense of what was happening around them; and the last of the prisoners were rounded up. The Dothraki were holding the prisoners, more now than ever before. She took a seat as the men took turns briefing her, Varys had picked a seat farther down the table, but Grey Worm, Jon and Ser Davos stood.

"We need to plan for your coronation." Varys spoke softly when conversation paused. "I sent ravens to all of the high lords of Westeros, the Queen needs to take her throne; and the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms need to turn out to watch her do it."

"The Queen has taken the Red Keep, she has alliances in the kingdoms North of the Crown lands, and what lies to the south is in disarray." Ser Davos met her eyes for a moment before he continued, his eyes on her advisor. "With respect your grace, the Red Keep is full of enemies, the city is coming out of chaos; the people need to know who their Queen is. They need to know who came for them, and who is feeding them today; not in a month from now when the highborn decide to come and swear fealty."

Daenerys focused on him for a moment, there was truth to what the man said; her people were here now. The men who fought for her, the city who suffered under the woman who did not care if they lived or died; they were all here. In time the highborn would swear fealty, to keep their lands and their titles at least; but she would only wait so long for them.

"Jon is here to represent the North, the River lords have already sworn to me. Dorne, the Westerlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands are without wardens or Lords Paramount correct?" She asked quietly, the kingdoms of the South were smaller, more densely populated; however, it was easier to travel between them.

"That is true, there are many noble houses…"

"But the warden is named by the Queen." She cut Varys off, and paused as Jorah slid into the room. "My coronation will be in a fortnight. We will see how many lords come to find out what they can get. In the meantime, our focus will be on the city, the Unsullied will keep the peace, but the slums cannot continue to spread, children cannot continue to live in the streets."

"There are orphanages, but they are little more than hovels, filthy and overcrowded." Jon murmured; his men had been in the city all night. "At least they've been fed."

"We need to do something more than that." Daenerys murmured, her mind thinking to the orphan that had traveled home from the Riverlands with them; somewhere out there perhaps her sister would be alive. And that would be a small reward for a child who had no idea she helped end the war.

Jorah stood in the shadows, but she could sense the anger in him; he had said nothing during the meeting, and it was not like him to be late. He was tense and his hand rested on his sword though there was no threat to her in this room.

As her council dispersed her husband stepped to her side. "We've found a few of Cersei Lannister's secrets; and something else."

She nodded, knowing this was his way of telling her she needed to see it. She could only imagine all he had seen this morning and she knew Jorah well enough to know he would shelter her where he could. With a brief shake of her head she left the members of her council who hesitated, though her guards followed; it was a practice she would have to mention to her husband soon.

But Jorah led the way through the halls and down to the cells of the dungeons, the cells were full between the prisoners who belonged there and those that had to be held until they could swear fealty. It would be a task to handle, but she saw that the first cells held the injured, there were men moving through those cells tending wounds. As they went deeper, she could pick out the red of the Lannister cloaks, and a few other colors, representing the houses these soldiers had hailed from; but the shadows grew long.

The torches that lit the corridors became less frequent as they continued down, the air dank and foul. They entered sections with heavy chains fixed at intervals instead of cells, Jorah kicked away a rat that attempted to climb her skirts. But as they went further, she heard the slow drip of water, darkness engulfed them until they turned a corner and a sole torch lit the end of the hall; the only light now came from the torches Jorah and her guards carried.

Daenerys stayed close to her husband's side but frowned as they met the lone torch; Arya Stark held it. The girl's eyes were hard as she watched a man standing at the end of a long chain within this last chamber. By stature alone she knew it was her Hand.

In truth she had known when he was not in the Dragon Pits yesterday, and she had wondered before that. The man did not waste a moment as they stopped before him.

"My Queen…." He began, faltering at the snarl that came from Jorah. She saw the fury in her husband, felt it in the tension he carried. Had they already spoken?

Jorah was usually calm, he listened before reacting and too often she relied on him for that; she knew her temper could be quick. But this hurt less than it should have, it did not take her by surprise, and she found herself wondering what her husband was feeling.

Lightly she touched his arm, he knew this was different from that day back in Mereen. Had she listened to him then, had she known what she knew now; their lives might have been very different. Tyrion might not have had this opportunity, but the past could not be changed; if it was there was no guarantee she would hold Westeros.

"I beg your mercy; I know you are capable of it; your own husband is a testament to that." Tyrion continued, though she saw that he ignored Jorah; his eyes on her. "I swear to you; my intentions were good. Cersei is many things, but she loved her children dearly and the child within her matters more to her than this city. I could have convinced her to surrender. I only thought to save lives…"

"You knew a way into the Red Keep, likely into the city as well; but you did not offer it to my cause." Daenerys replied coldly. "And my husband, is not an argument to use to fight your quarter. Jorah chose me over everything else, he was willing to give everything for my cause from the day he swore to me."

"I believed I could support your cause, if Cersei surrendered the Keep your men would not have died in the battle…" Trailing off as Arya Stark drew closer.

"Perhaps you should have trusted the Queen." Arya's voice was ice. "Perhaps Qyburn would have met someone else last night."

Even in the poor light she saw color drain from the man's face. "Qyburn?"

"He never delivered your message." Perhaps Qyburn had no intention of delivering the message, putting him down here; she doubted if Cersei would come down into this miserable hole. Jorah had told her a little of what he found last night; another piece slide into place.

"It does not change your actions, perhaps a guard delivered your missive..." Daenerys countered coldly; breaking off as she heard a small sound, looking up to see that Jorah had heard it too.

She held up her hand quickly as Tyrion began to speak; hearing the faintest voice. "No guards come…"

The man was silent, looking around as well as the torches were cast in a wider circle, one guard stayed beside her as the others moved out. It was in the light of one of the Dothraki's torches that she saw an emaciated woman crumpled in a heap by the far wall, trying to lift her head; chained by the throat.

"Yara." She whispered,their voices must have roused her, but the woman looked nothing like the defiant and proud sea captain she'd made an oath with. Moving quickly to her side, Daenerys lifted the weak woman's head from the cold stone and into her own lap as Jorah threw his cloak over her; the guards looking at the chain.

The woman stirred weakly as the guards tried different keys; none opened the lock. She tried to soothe her, wondering how long Yara had been trapped down here as Jorah ran his hands over the chain, pausing over one spot and ordered one of the guards to fetch a battle axe.

She watched her husband raise the heavy axe over his head, swinging it down, the steel made a terrible noise as it broke the chain; embedding in the stone floor below. He wasted no time, heaving the loose chain over his shoulder before crouching to lift the woman from the floor; Daenerys steadied her head.

"I will find a maester." Arya offered.

"No, get Missandei." She instructed, turning to give the guards further instructions to get the tools to remove the collar, and to find a chamber.

She knew from their past her friend would have more skill treating Yara Greyjoy than any maester who spent is career tending the highborn; some slaves were treated in this way. Jorah lay the woman gently on a bed after one of the guards awkwardly spread a sheet over it, moments later Missandei arrived and gave quick instructions to the men who waited at the door; asking for warm water, ointment and strips of cloth.

Once the collar was removed, that and the length of chain tossed aside the men were sent out. Daenerys stayed and watched as her friend carefully removed the woman's clothing, washed and cleaned the abrasions on her body and wrapped her in a fresh shift; binding the open wounds on her feet and ankles.

"Your grace, we will need help to get her up, she should have a little broth and this chamber needs to be made." Missandei told her quietly, laying a hand on Yara's shoulder to stop the woman's weak attempts to move herself.

She nodded, opening the door to find even more men in the corridor; it was as she saw her husband at the end of the corridor, she relaxed a little. He knew what needed to be done, urging a pair of maids ahead of him; the young women loaded down with bed linens. She suspected it annoyed him that it was the Unsullied soldier beside him who carried the firewood; Daenerys stepped aside to let them into the room.

Jorah moved Yara to a bench one of the maids covered with thick furs as the bed was made up and the fire was lit. Missandei gave strict instructions to one of the Unsullied who went to the kitchens for a broth; her friend said it was to be plain and weak.

"Yara, how long were you down there?" She asked softly, unsure if she should push the woman so soon, but she wasn't sure they would have found her in time had she not drawn their attention.

"I don't know." The woman licked her chapped lips, her voice rough, pausing as Missandei took a cloth to wet them again. "I was in another room of some sort until Theon came…. Euron put me down there after…it is always dark down there; I don't know how long."

The woman told the story slowly, the effort obvious but it seemed to give her strength to give her report. Theon's rescue had failed, and she saw pain cross the woman's face, Daenerys took her hand and squeezed gently; her brother had died bravely but those words would offer little comfort. After the rescue attempt Euron had moved her to the black cells, chained her to a wall and seemingly forgot about her.

Yara was able to tell her that it was Qyburn who brought Tyrion down there last night, the man had visited her periodically and was responsible for the small wounds on her body not caused by rats; curious about how long it would take for her to die. Daenerys gladly told the woman that her tormentor had died, perhaps Arya Stark should have let him suffer a little longer.

…

Daenerys did not leave until Yara was settled in the freshly made bed, the chamber warmed by a roaring fire and Missandei had given strict instructions to the maids who would care for her. Jorah watched quietly, he'd been in the dungeons for another purpose, only alerted to Tyrion's presence by the young Stark; her presence was an entirely different matter. He'd ordered men to do a thorough search of those miserable cells, they'd been finding a few surprises as they explored.

Jorah frowned as Varys approached, the man peered into the chamber where the women still hovered and then came straight to him. "You found Tyrion?"

"We did." The man was smart to guard his response, especially now.

"I suppose it is not surprise Cersei threw him down there. How did you know to search the black cells?"

"I didn't. Arya Stark informed me." That she must have either heard it from Qyburn or tortured it from him was not something he intended to say; nor would he bring up how he had found her this morning.

The girl had not come to the capitol for the same reasons as her brother; it seemed Arya Stark was intent on repaying old debts. One of their prisoners had not survived the night, but the man was not one to be missed; and if his wife asked, he would inform her of Ilyn Payne's fate.

"It is amazing she survived at all." Varys murmured, glancing at the closed door again. "And Tyrion?"

"He will remain where he is for now." Daenerys joined them, her glare settling over her master of whispers. "He will receive food and water, as the prisoners of war are dealt with, he will be moved up."

Her tone warned off any protest the man might have made, and Jorah knew it was in Tyrion Lannister's best interest to let that be. When she turned back to wait for Missandei he excused himself and slid away from the Spider; he'd been in the dungeons for another reason this morning.

They had yet to find the Generals of the Golden Company, they had not been in the Riverlands with their men, nor with the Lannister's officers. It was unlikely that they had abandoned their contract, even if they lost their army, if their reputation survived there would always be more sell swords to hire across the Narrow Sea. And those men were known to like their gold more than their swords; letting the sell swords they hired fight and die. But more importantly, they held the gold that Westeros owed to the Iron Bank.

The harbours were closed off by the ships that came down from the North, and the palace had been searched; but the sheer number of prisoners they held made it difficult. He left the palace on foot, heading for the Dragon Pits; falling in step with a group of Northerners heading back to their camp.

He detoured through a poor section of the city, stopping at a soup kitchen with a line made almost entirely of children. They eyed him nervously, and Jorah crouched near a group that already had their food, the children held their plates close, he glared at a group of older boys lurking near by and then shifted his sword to sit on the edge of the step.

The boys dispersed and he was quiet for a moment, giving the little ones a chance to scarf down their meal. "Do you know a man called Lord Varys?"

Eyes widened, and a few shook their heads; but he saw the recognition. They knew the Spider, he suspected they knew Qyburn as well, and neither men had any qualms about using children who had nothing.

"Do you know sisters named Eva and Fiona?" He stopped a passing Unsullied soldier and took the canteen he carried, offering the water to the little ones. He got a few more guarded looks, but they didn't scatter. "Eva would like to find her sister."

They weren't going to give him any answers today, they didn't know him and were street savvy enough not to trust him; but they would spread the word far faster than he could. It was very possible the child would go to ground, once the city settled, he would bring Eva with him; the girl might now how to find her sister.

Jorah continued to the pits, giving instructions for men to be sorted by house; it was the fastest way to determine who they had. Westerosi men would be offered the option to swear fealty to the Queen and return to their homes and their families. It was simpler out here, these men were all prisoners of war; in the dungeons they had criminals in the mix. However, he could not identify the men he was looking for among so many faces and so he turned to a different tactic; one he could pursue in the keep itself.

"Your grace!" Sam Tarly called, Jorah stopped to let the man catch up to him, hustling across the sandy ground.

"Sam." He hadn't realized the man had come south but glancing back at the tent he suspected the young man's healing skills had been needed.

"Do you think I might come with you?" Sam was slightly out of breath and Jorah kept his stride short so as not to out pace him. "The library at the Red Keep must be impressive, I've heard it is the largest, well other than the citadel of course. I've been working on translating the inscription we found in the Stark's crypts; but I can't seem to find much reference to the language; I think it might be connected to the Children of the Forrest. I've helped with the injured, well as much as…"

"Get your things. I'll find us some horses." He stopped Sam's rambling; he'd hear the boy out, he hadn't given much more thought to what they had found in the North; there had been another war to fight.

First though, he had a question of his own. "Have you treated any men from the East?"

"Possibly, I don't know." Sam paused. "There have been a few from Queen Daenerys' forces, but I did have one man, he was pulled from the water of a ship that had been run aground on the rocks at the mouth of the harbor; some bad burns. His armour was strange, like nothing I'd ever seen before, didn't help him any. He might have been Eastern. He certainly wasn't a Greyjoy."

Jorah nodded, and Sam took that as permission to launch in an account of his research, the young man had been looking into a history few studied; one few in the South knew anything of. But it was connected to the dead rising and that was not something the Northerners would easily put from their minds, not after what they had seen or lost in the war between the living and the dead. The North was currently the strongest ally his wife had, choosing to marry him had been nod to that alliance; and though he was oblivious to it Sam might represent another.

Sam rode beside him, explaining that he'd found a few of the characters from the inscription in references to the children of the Forest, it was written in their language; possibly dating back to the alliance between the Children and the First Men. But Sam still did not know what it said. When they arrived at the Red Keep he left the young man to find the library and went to see if he could find Jon Snow or Ser Davos Seaworth; they had led the attack by sea.


	19. Chapter 19

Jorah stood by as the Southern forces knelt before her, swearing allegiance before flowing from the city; beginning the march back to their homelands. The Ironborn who had been removed from the bay still lounged in cells; she had a different plan for them.

The departure of most of the prisoners took some pressure off their forces and the city as a whole, but preparations for the coronation had been thrown into full swing. Her husband was impatiently waiting for this morning's ceremony to conclude and she wondered what he was considering.

When she retired to the wall of the Red Keep where both of her dragons perched to watch what was happening below, she spotted her husband, again without guards heading down to the shore. Irritated Daenerys watched, hearing her sons' clicking deep in their throat; the dragons had a way of sensing changes in her mood. Absently she stroked Drogon's snout, it was tempting to mount and take him out to see what Jorah was doing.

Yet she had other commitments this afternoon, she was to be crowned soon and there were details of that ceremony and the celebration to be attended to. There would be a feast in the hall after and Varys' reported she could expect a great number of nobles to be in attendance, that was not an engagement she was looking forward to; but Daenerys had ordered that food be prepared so that the city could celebrate with them. Then there were matter of state to be attended, the wealthy of these Kingdoms had spent too many years walking over the poor; she would begin in her capitol but she intended all of Westeros to rise up from beneath the wheel.

She took a few more moments high on the wall, the breeze off the sea was fresh and clean; it was soothing. The throne room had felt too warm this morning and made her feel a little queasy, coming from the North she had become accustomed to the cold, her body was struggling to adjust and the smell of the unwashed soldiers who had been cycled though to swear fealty had not helped.

But it needed to be done, families needed their men back, they had worried long enough; and many had lost too much in the wars of these Kingdoms. Men flowed south today, some would be journeying may days, as their lords and ladies headed for the city; to see her crowned.

Daenerys walked the throne room with Varys, Jon as well as a few other lords and guards; listening as her Master of Whispers outlined the plan for the ceremony. He had detailed plans for seating based upon who needed to swear allegiance and who she needed to recognize; there were several men to be appointed as wardens and others to be recognized for their support of her claim.

Varys motioned to where Sam Tarly and Jon Snow would sit, Jon's support would be recognized but he was also to be publicly named as Warden of the North. Samwell Tarly would become Lord of the Reach, holding it from his ancestral seat of Hornhill; High Garden was to be returned to the Crown. Those lands would be farmed by any Unsullied who wished to retire, and the Dothraki would be allowed to build their own city in the rich green lands where their horses would prosper.

"Your grace." Jon murmured; the man dipped his head to Varys as he interrupted him. "I would ask one favor of you."

She nodded, though she eyed him curiously.

"You have offered me a great honor, but I would ask you one more." Jon's gaze was direct, and she swallowed hard. "Let me continue my father's line, his house should not die out. He was the most honorable man I've ever known, his line should not disappear, tainted by lies, I ask that you legitimize me and name me Stark."

"No. No it should not, and it will not." In asking her this favor she knew he gave her a gift as well. Before other nobles he asked to be named a Stark, he chose the man and house who had raised him over the wealth and title that his true parentage would offer; and she would not forget that. "I name you Jon Stark today, and on the day I am crowned, I will name you Lord Stark of Winterfell; Warden of the North."

"Thank you, my Queen." Jon murmured; Daenerys held his gaze a beat longer, hoping to convey her own appreciation. Should the truth of his parentage ever come to light it would be hard to prove it to be anything but rumor when Jon was named Stark, when he had asked to be legitimized. Still she would never forget that they were blood.

Varys waited a beat as men murmured their congratulations and nodded in agreement with her words and then continued to outline the plans for the ceremony. "King Jorah will follow you in, crown you, return to the base of the steps and kneel. When he rises…"

"Jorah will not kneel." She cut him off coldly, Jorah refused to be crowned, saying he would stand by her side, but she would not have him kneel like the nobles of this kingdom; he was their King. "His fealty and his sword have been sworn to me long before any of you even considered me a Queen."

"His is agreeable to it Your grace." Varys murmured softly.

"I won't have it." She was the one who would sit upon the Iron Throne, there was no question of who would rule in their marriage; nobles of Westeros would do without the spectacle. "Once I am named Queen, he is to be announced King and his titles read out; then the nobles can kneel."

Varys nodded and made a notation on the document he carried, but he did not look pleased. Daenerys did not care, this was a moment she had fought long and hard for, and won with the strength of many men, many who gave their lives for her cause; she had specific expectations. And they would be met.

"Will you want the Ironborn to swear fealty before the coronation?" Varys asked.

"Not before, I am not the only one they will swear allegiance to if they wish to live and Yara is not strong enough yet to command them." One of her first supporters in this realm had suffered horribly at the hands of the enemy.

Daenerys could not give her the head of her uncle, nor his body, as far as they could determine Euron Greyjoy had gone down with his ship and many of his men; a better death than he deserved. But she had won back her birth right and now held the power to give the same to another; had she been free Yara's support would have been to her cause. When she had recovered enough Yara would be given her reward, and a task; the Ironborn would no longer raid the coasts of Westeros.

"And the other prisoners?" Lord Varys asked quietly, he knew better than to be specific; what to do with Tyrion Lannister was a decision she struggled with. "There is a man who insists that he needs to speak to you. He is believed to be the general of the Golden Company."

"And he stayed safely behind the walls of this city while his men marched to the Riverlands to face me?" Daenerys questioned sharply; the eunuch nodded. "Then he will wait."

She paused as she saw Missandei cut through the corridor beyond the throne room, Eva holding her hand. Her friend often spent any free time she had with Eva, both Grey Worm and Jorah had taken the child down into the slums of the city to try and find the sister the little girl had been willing to go so far to protect. So far there had been little luck, but Daenerys knew Jorah was hoping that word would spread and if the child was alive, she would find them.

Daenerys spent a little more time with her council before the evening meal and finally retreating to the privacy of her room. Missandei had a bath drawn for her and Daenerys ran her fingers through the hot water before deciding to sit at the small dressing table while her friend freed her braids; but Missandei noticed.

"I can add some cold if you like." Her friend began to unwind her hair, a knowing look in her eyes.

"No, it will be fine." It was not that the heat was unbearable, but she felt warmer than usual; still it would feel good to soak. "How is Eva doing?"

"She is adjusting." Daenerys did not miss the soft smile that played at her friend's lips; Eva was burrowing her way into someone's heart. "She was playing with Grey Worm's spear this morning; I think he liked showing her how to hold it."

Daenerys closed her eyes and listened as Missandei spoke of the child's antics. The water slowly cooled and she soaked for awhile before rising to be wrapped in a soft robe while her friend tended to her long hair while the tub was emptied. Finally, her husband came in, looking tired and worn as he unstrapped his sword and removed his coat.

She dismissed her friend with a nod, her attention turned to her husband. "You were gone a long time today."

"I'm sorry." He sighed, pouring some water into a basin to wash his face. "Did you need me?"

"No, but I wish you'd taken a guard with you." Jorah worried about her safety but did not properly consider his own.

"Ser Davos went with me." He cupped the water in his hands and rubbed it over his neck. "We'll be going out there again tomorrow."

"I need you here in the afternoon, most of the nobles will have arrived." She saw him duck his head, likely hiding a wince; but she knew he would be there. "And we need to run through the coronation."

"Varys told me…" He turned towards and Daenerys stepped close to him even as she stopped him.

"There have been a few changes." She reached for the ties on his shirt. "You will not kneel, just stay at my side."

"I've knelt for you before." He frowned and stopped the hand that had been pulling his shirt from his breeches.

"Exactly, and that was before you were my husband." Daenerys sighed, letting her hand rest on his belt, blue eyes were studying her intently and she recognized the stubborn look in them. "You are King of Westeros now; you will not kneel as the nobles do."

Jorah said nothing but his palm found its way to the small of her back and a thrill raced through her as his other slid along the back of her neck; eagerly she tipped her face up to him. Desire swelled eagerly within her as his mouth pressed to her and she melted into him, but he stopped her from wrapping her arms around him.

He shifted to nuzzle her neck, pressing soft kisses there as his fingers skimmed the sides of her robe; Daenerys slipped the tie and shoved at the sides of his shirt until he paused long enough to remove it. Jorah's hand skimmed lightly over her skin, only stopping as she tried to open his belt; he captured her hands and turned her towards the bed.

"Let me touch you." She groaned as he cupped her breast and his head dipped to suckle there.

"Let me kneel for you." Jorah's mouth slid lower, she groaned as his hands framed her hips and he knelt in front of her. He pressed a kiss to her belly and her breath hitched as she saw him glancing up. He nudged her back a little and she felt the back of her knees brush the bed as he shifted lower, nuzzling the top of her thigh.

He did not stop her hands this time as she slid her hands through his hair, but he nuzzled the center of her before lapping lightly; Daenerys moaned at the sweet pleasure. Her hands ran over his shoulders, he pulled her into him by her hips and she pressed against him, rolling her hips as he tasted her, his mouth felt so good.

Need tightened in her, stroked forward at a punishing pace as Jorah teased her, but he refused to rise. Her head tipped back, he pressed two fingers into her, and she tried to widen her stance; he shifted her so she could slide one leg over his shoulder.

Her body tightened, the pleasure he was creating within her demanded that he thrust home; but Jorah refused to give her what she wanted. She trembled on the edge as he suckled at the center of her, his fingers thrust into her, but didn't fill her up and she whimpered; her body demanding release.

"Jorah please." She moaned, pulling at his shoulders uselessly, she wanted to feel the thick ridge of his arousal pressing into her; the familiar slide of his body against hers.

But her husband did not yield, and her body teetered on the edge, it was only as Jorah surged up from beneath her; tipping her back onto the bed and pressed her thighs wide. She arched into the pleasure he offered and felt release race through her.

Her body still trembling as she realized he had shifted away, immediately Daenerys missed his touch and sought to see where he had gone. Only to watch as he released his own belt, sliding free of his breeches and she saw the hungry look in his eyes as he returned to her.

Strong hands eased her up the bed as his frame enveloped her, and his shaft slid within her. Daenerys moaned as her body took him slickly, pleasure gathering again quickly; her arms wrapped around him.

…

He watched pleasure wash over her again as his own release was spent, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing how to make her body respond. Jorah knew he would not always match her endurance, for the sweet feel of her body would overwhelm any man quickly; yet that would not ease his desire to satisfy her.

Daenerys knew what she liked and often he let her direct their mating, she was direct in seeking her pleasure; but Jorah knew there was far more pleasure that he could give her. And as he shifted to lay next to her, he thought she had enjoyed having his mouth on her; he could still taste her sweetness.

It was then that his wife rolled onto her side, pulling herself across his chest, reaching for the blade he kept there, the habit serving both for protection and to meet his wife's needs. He felt the sting of that short blade opening the wound she had fed from that morning; Jorah only slid his hand into her hair as she swallowed the blood that welled there.

"Does it hurt?" She asked softly, lifting her head for a moment, unaware that she had a smear of blood on her lip; it was a question she asked him often.

"No darling." He wiped the blood away before she dipped her head again, in truth her habits told him of her mindset.

When she was upset or stressed, she sought his blood more often, and since they arrived in the capitol that was nearly every morning as she woke, and again in the evening as they settled. Jorah only tangled his hand in her long silvery blonde hair, letting his mind wander to the task he would return to the following morning; one he hoped would pay off well.

He had spent a long day climbing onto the fragile shipwrecks that littered the bay, dodging the questions Ser Davos posed; knowing the odds were slim. Yet the last of the Golden Company had been found alive on a shipwreck and it stood to reason that it might be possible to recover their possessions. Jorah knew a little of the Golden Company's general and he'd heard rumors in the dungeons.

While famed for having never broken a contract it was also well known that the Golden Company weighed the odds before wading into any battle. Sell swords might lose their lives but the men who led them preferred gold to war, their days of wielding weapons were in the past and so they had brought a contingency from the East; one it was whispered would appeal to his wife.

And though he knew that his wife would be frustrated he slipped from the Red Keep the next morning in the company of Ser Davos and Gendry, the young man who claimed to be the bastard of Robert Baratheon who seemed close to the Northern advisor. Perhaps he would claim that the young blacksmith was his guard, Gendry certainly did most of the rowing that day; pounding steel had made him extremely strong. But there were other plans for Gendry.

The winter sun was high in the sky as Jorah braced himself, preparing for the jump to the rocky outcrop that had put a hole in the hull of an Ironborn ship that was now partially submerged; resting at an awkward angle. Jorah made the jump easily and turned for the rope that Ser Davos tossed, tying their small craft to the rocks, it was their younger companion who was the first to make the climb to the uneven deck; testing the boards as he went.

Jorah followed, moving quickly to the lower deck, the hold had only a few cabins, these ships were not made for comfort but to be crewed by warriors; the Iron born slept in a long narrow chamber of bunks above the cargo hold. In the stern there were two cabins, one with maps still spread over a desk and the kracken insignia proudly displayed, it was clearly the captain's; in the other he finally found his prize.

He kicked open a chest of gold, likely a portion of the payment made for the sell sword company's service; Gendry offered to haul it up and with the help of the ex smuggler disappeared above the deck. Water around his ankles Jorah continued to explore, some of the gold would still be in the royal treasury; the last installment would never be paid. But he knew the chest they'd just found was not nearly enough, no; there was something else here. And he found it in what appeared to be the personal trunk of the general. A dragon's egg.

The egg was blackened, as though someone had placed it in a fire, perhaps after hearing how Daenerys Targaryen had called dragons back to life. But this egg had not hatched in the flames that had charred its scaled surface; it had not been called by the mother of dragons. Either way it was a gift his wife would have along with the gold, rather than used as a bargaining chip by a man who had left those he commanded to die.

Jorah knew the life of a sell sword, and he was glad his wife had spared the lives of those who surrendered to her in the Riverlands; each would have his own reason for taking up sword. He felt no such sympathy for the man lounging in the dungeons; that man would face his fate without a bribe to offer.

Wrapping the egg in a satchel he climbed from the ruined ship and returned to the boat and then to the Red Keep. The task of hauling the gold up to the Keep was turned over to a pair of Unsullied who waited for him on the shore. He spoke with his companions as they walked the halls of the Keep, Gendry was to take up the position of chief armourer, while the man seemed happy about the opportunity at the position Jorah sensed a hesitation in him; and caught a glimpse of the shadow they had picked up in the corridors.

"He doesn't know what he's after." It was only when they left the young man that Ser Davos paused, and when Jorah glanced back, he saw Arya Stark slip from the shadows to fall in step with the smith; he shared a glance with the knight.

"None of us do at that age." But then they sorted it out eventually, and those two kids had seen more in their short lives than some would know in all their days. Still he made note of it, Arya Stark might have had her own reasons, yet she had done the Queen a great service.

Jorah parted ways with Ser Davos and headed down to the dungeons; it was time to play his hand. He'd never had cause to be introduced to the general in his short time with the sell sword company; today he would be. The man had been moved to a cell near the front, the dungeons no longer bursting at the seams.


	20. Chapter 20

That he left again without guards did not surprise her, but when she was informed that he had returned with gold from the Ironborn ships Daenerys went to find him and learned that he had gone to the dungeons. Jorah could be stubborn and once he had set his mind to a task, he did not back down from it; but she had known that for years.

It was only as she followed her guards into the corridor that she tensed, hearing the roar of a furious man before she saw her husband standing close to bars. While one man yelled, Jorah's words were so soft she could not catch them, it was only when the man reached through the bars, getting a hand on her husband's throat that Daenerys gasped in shock.

Her guards responded swiftly and as Jorah shoved the man back, forcing the offending arm against the bars at an odd angle that she realized she had made a mistake. An Unsullied spear slid between the bars and into the prisoner's belly before her husband's gaze swung over them in fury.

"What have you done?" There was an emptiness in his voice as Jorah stared at the guard who had withdrawn his spear, the prisoner crumpled to his knees clutching his gut.

"He lay hands on the King." Black Rat responded without hesitation.

"He was unarmed and imprisoned." Jorah muttered in disgust, eyes swinging over the man who had now slumped to the floor.

"And if he'd secreted a weapon? Or stolen one of yours?" Daenerys countered, giving the guard who glanced to her uneasily a reassuring nod; he had responded as he should have. But she already knew they had interrupted something; the assault had not caught her husband off guard.

"Pull him out of there." Jorah muttered, stalking forward; pausing at her shoulder. His words were only for her. "He was known to love gold more than his sword, to have an ego and a temper; I took what he craved and baited his nature. Men with tempers do not keep secrets and we both know this city is full of those; he might have known something of Cersei's friends."

Daenerys swallowed hard, watching as the dying man was dragged from the cells and she knew that Jorah's hand coming to rest on her back, turning her away from the scene was only partially out of concern; their prisoners had just seen division between them. They left the dungeons together, but Daenerys was fully aware of the tension he carried now.

Jorah was the one who advised caution in dealing with Tyrion, and in trusting some members of her council; some in Westeros still may not accept her as Queen. Knowing who to trust and who to be cautious of was a difficult thing, especially as the powerful families of these kingdoms flowed through the city gates. The war might be over, but it would take time to put down the factions that might have other ideas.

"He could have been questioned privately." She muttered as they wove through the halls.

"It scorned his ego to be held in the cells, it made him easy to goad." Jorah sighed, but his hand did shift to her hip; tucking her a little closer. "And he'd just learned he lost his safety net."

"The gold." Daenerys nodded.

"No, the gold was payment. A man who doesn't like to fight usually plans to bargain, he had something he knew you'd want; or at least he did…" Jorah paused as Sam Tarly approached them, moving quickly; she frowned at how quickly her husband dropped their conversation.

"Your grace, your, um… Sire." Sam Tarly was nearly bouncing in place as he stumbled over his words; clearly excited about something. "I believe I've found the meaning of the inscription. I can show you…"

Jorah looked interested and she nodded, they would pick their conversation up later. She watched the two disappear, she was hoping Jorah would be able to convince that man to stay in King's Landing, her husband had been right about him. He had a keen mind, and a dogged determinedness when it came to research, looking for answers rather than making up his own.

Daenerys returned to their chamber, she had a dress fitting this afternoon and she wasn't surprised to find Missandei already setting up the room. She smiled as Eva followed her friend like a shadow, watching everything that happened.

"She isn't staying long. Grey Worm is going to take her out into the city again; but he is late." Missandei told her apologetically.

"It isn't a problem." She smiled at the child, Grey Worm was likely late because of the incident in the dungeon. Missandei nodded, a fond look glancing over the girl, even as she dodged around her to open the soft pouch that held her the pin she'd had made for Jorah. "Come here Eva."

She sat on the edge of the bed and patted a spot for the girl to sit beside her, taking a loose lock of hair and beginning to braid it. The girl sat still for only a moment before trying to touch the braid and turning to see where Missandei went when she left the room.

Daenerys told her of how the Dothraki wore their braids as badges of honor and symbols of their strength until Grey Worm knocked on the door. Eva scampered off with him and left them to prepare for the fitting; she slid off her coat and gestured for Missandei to put it away.

The seamstress and her friend helped her into the beautiful gown, a fine black silk that felt wonderfully light, the sigils of her house and her husband's delicately woven into the skirts, a deep green accent woven with red and silver held her cloak, twisting across her shoulders to be held in place by a dragon pin. The lacy sleeves reached her forearms, the dark color felt like armour, made feminine by the hints of color and flattering cut.

"It is wonderful." She murmured, it fit her sleekly, Daenerys had refused the train that many women in this city favoured; she preferred the dress be functional as well and dragging fabric behind her was not.

Missandei played carefully with the laces, she knew her friend noticed that it fit a snug in places it hadn't at the last fitting; it was a good thing the coronation would happen soon. She had chosen a white gold crown, the dragon's eyes sets of small cut rubies, tying it perfectly to the dress.

It was all coming together, and she thanked the seamstress before allowing her friend to help her change back into her clothes. Though she left off the coat this time.

"Are you sure?" Her friend asked softly.

"I'm warm enough." In truth she could have done without it most of the day.

"Have you felt ill at all? Mornings are said to be difficult when a babe begins to grow."

"No, I haven't, only warm; the child has his father's Northern blood." It was early, in truth she had spent much of the time in a twist of nervous denial, telling herself her blood was only late or that Jorah's was no longer working, and hopeful desire.

"Have you told His grace yet?"

She only shook her head, in truth she was afraid to tell Jorah, fearing that something would go wrong. But as soon as she began to take Jorah's blood her own had come as it was meant to, then it had been due before they were to march South from the Twins. She said nothing to her husband and took any excuse to find pleasure in his arms, longing for his babe to take root within her.

But telling him would make it real, and then the loss would be made bitter for them both, for she knew Jorah would be excited to become a father. She knew what lengths he would go to for family, willing to leave reputation and family behind to protect his aunt; he would allow nothing to threaten his child. But Daenerys feared the threat might come from within her.

"His blood broke the curse, and his seed made the child." Missandei whispered to her.

"Now ice and fire dance within me. What if my fire wins?" She was mother to dragons, her first husband and son lost in the witch's curse; the dragons the only children she had hoped to have for so long.

"I have heard legends of ice dragons. Who is to say they will not meld together and be forged stronger for it?"

Daenerys sighed, her friend was right, if the child had taken root it must be strong. And it would need to be, for this child would rule the Seven Kingdoms after her; honoring the new way she would forge. The blood of her ancestors would forever tie her child to the dragons, but the blood of its father ran cool and calm.

She remembered her brother telling her not to dilute the blood of the dragon, that it would weaken their bond; and yet she knew that he had never been a dragon. Fire had killed Viserys, and in the words of her house she had proved herself to be a dragon; returning them to this world. Her child would be a dragon and a bear; the blood of Valyria and the North.

Missandei helped her dress for dinner, nobles had been arriving from all over the Seven Kingdoms and they expected to be entertained tonight, Jorah came in as she changed, and she saw his gaze linger on her; but there was something behind that look. She caught his eye again, but he had to clean up quickly for the meal.

"You should go your grace." Missandei urged.

"We need to speak Khaleesi." Jorah turned, still pulling on his cloak. Sam Tarly had kept him a long time, but whatever secrets the man had uncovered had waited a thousand years; they would keep a few more hours.

"We cannot be late; we will speak tonight." She promised. The meal was going to be long, but the show was necessary; and she wanted to get a sense of these people. Jorah winced, but nodded as she reached out to kiss his cheek before leaving.

He was not far behind her, though she didn't miss his fidgeting with the new cloak; he would probably prefer his armour. At some point, he had to accept his position, and while certain aspects might be challenging, he knew what to do here and so did she.

It was late when the meal finally wrapped up and when they returned to their chamber Jorah let Missandei go to bed. Her husband stepped in behind her, carefully loosening the laces of her dress; she could tell that he was tired tonight.

"What did Sam Tarly tell you this afternoon?" She asked quietly.

"He's found the translation, but that is not what I wanted to speak to you about." Jorah murmured, but he did not turn to remove his own clothes.

Instead he reached into the armoire and withdrew his cloak, Daenerys frowned as he tossed it aside and then a satchel followed it; her breath caught in her throat as he balanced a blackened dragon egg on his palm. He held it out to her, and she stared at it for a long moment; then lifted her eyes to his face.

"Where did you get it?" She whispered, taking it from him carefully.

"Men who love gold more than a fight make sure they have insurance." Jorah told her and suddenly she knew how he had gotten the egg. "He wanted to speak with you, he believed he had something to offer in exchange for his freedom."

Daenerys pulled the egg close, running her fingers over the scales, she could not tell what color it had originally been. But as she held it against her chest, she felt something deep within her belly twist, as though straining towards the egg and she shifted it lower.

"Thank you." She whispered, reaching up to kiss him as she cradled the egg.

…

Jorah woke with his wife nestled into his side; her weight usually did not bother him; but she was in an awkward position partially draped over his hip. Gently he shifted her only to find it was the dragon egg nestled between them that was uncomfortable. As he moved the egg she began to wake.

He had not shared her bed in the first days that she had dragon eggs, but he knew the stories of Targaryen children carrying their eggs everywhere with them; and she had certainly been captivated by the first ones. Jorah had held his secret that night for purely selfish reasons, and it had been worth it.

She had been open and at ease with him, the wonder and excitement in her so vivid that he had felt it as well. He knew he would likely frustrate her repeatedly in the times to come, but he would always do so to serve her interests and her cause; he intended to do so today.

"When do you intend to hatch it?" Jorah asked as the egg was tucked back beneath the covers; cradled close to her again. A part of him feared what sort of sacrifice she would offer this time; her throne was still new; and magic was feared in much of Westeros.

"This egg is not for me to hatch." She whispered, her gaze fully on him. "Our child has already claimed it."

"We are to have a child?" He whispered, searching her face for an answer as his palm slid towards her belly.

"You will be a father before new year breaks." She covered his hand with hers and then slid the dragon egg lower. He felt the slightest shift beneath his hand, and the egg trembled. "Are you pleased?"

Of course, he was pleased, and the hopeful tone of her voice sweetened the moment more; yet he had not missed her first words. Jorah shifted to sit, gently pulling her with him; she was not going to like what he had to say. His fears of what she would do with the egg had gone in a different direction, he had feared she would use an enemy to give life to the dragon; and more than one languished in the dungeons just now.

"Daenerys, please do not risk our child's life for a dragon egg." He had seen her stillborn son and it was blood magic that was responsible for that; otherwise she might have a boy of seven by now. "I will help you find another…"

"Nothing will harm our baby, but our child is a dragon and it calls to the egg as both wait to see this world." Her palm cupped his cheek and his wife pressed her mouth to his; but there was a ferocity in her voice when she spoke. "I will not use blood magic to bring this dragon into the world for the dragons' magic is far stronger, Drogon and Rhaegal grow stronger each year. And with the strength of its warrior father our child will call its dragon to life."

He nodded hesitantly, wishing he felt as confident as she did and as there was a knock at the door, Missandei no doubt arriving to help her prepare for the long ceremony today; Jorah was hesitant to let her go. He held her tight a moment longer, his palm still splayed across her belly as he recalled how she had grown with child once before but this time it was his child; and there was something primal in that.

A surge of possessive pride rose up in him, this child was about far more than politics; it was in her eyes and the way she had asked hopefully for his thoughts. Today was political, but this news made it personal, because today as Daenerys was crowned, she carried their baby; and someday when they were both gone her vision would live on.

He dressed as Missandei fixed his wife's hair, today he would place the crown on her head but the intricately made crown would be woven with her braids after; glittering against her pale hair. And though the bear of his house was subtly woven into his coat, he wore colors of her house and a dragon pin; this was about restoring her family line.

Before a room full of lords and ladies, and with the noise of a courtyard full of small folk his wife took the Iron Throne. Jorah stood to the side of the steps as he watched Daenerys walk up the aisle, she looked beautiful and powerful; but more she looked at that throne with satisfaction.

It had been a long journey, one she made for herself, but also for her people and once she sat, he mounted the stairs, stopping before her to carefully place the crown upon her head. Then he took two steps back, feeling for the edge of the first step he knelt and heard the hall fall silent as he drew his sword.

"I swear to serve you, fight and die for you if need be." Jorah repeated the oath over his sword, he had first sworn to her years ago in the Dothraki Sea, but today there was a little more. "As your liege man I will serve you in faith and truth, as your confidant and strength; placing you above all others."

Having said that he rose and sheathed his sword, intending to step to her side; but Daenerys held out her hand. He smiled a little and took it, gently kissing it and then stepping closer to kiss her cheek. She hadn't wanted him to kneel, but just as her council had needed a reminder the great houses of this nation would know it was his wife who ruled.

The lords of Westeros filed forward and knelt below the platform; pledging their loyalty. How many told the truth was another question, time would answer that. And Daenerys' announcements were well received, Jon as a Stark and Warden of the North, Sam Tarly as Lord of the Reach, and Gendry as a Baratheon. The last to swear was Yara Greyjoy, still weak from her ordeal the sailor knelt before the throne; swearing her loyalty and the oaths made in Mereen years ago.

"I respect your willingness to embrace a new age for the Iron Islands." Daenerys spoke as Yara stood; Jorah kept his hands clasped behind him, sensing that she was preparing to send a message to all assembled. "I herby commission the Ironborn fleet to ship supplies between Westeros and Dragon's Bay, I will not ask you to change your way without offering you another."

"Thank you, Your grace." Yara murmured before returning to her seat.

There would be more to come, and he knew the people here could sense that; but men did not ask today. As she rose, he offered his hand and the bells began to ring, tolling the beginning of her reign and to the cheers of those assembled the celebration began; Westeros had crowned its first Targaryen Queen.

The throne room was abandoned for the great hall and Jorah sat back in his seat, watching the celebration unfold. Though the hall was loud the high table was rather peaceful tonight, people came up to see their new Queen, but they did not stay, food and wine flowed freely; in the city beyond the canteens offered thick stew and bread.

As he watched the hall he frowned, watching one man pick his way through the crowd; Jorah could tell he was heading up here. And he knew it was not the right time for Jamie Lannister to make a plea for his brother's life; Jamie was not the one to do it. Daenerys might know what her father was, but to her he was still a man she would never know; and Jamie Lannister the reason she had grown up without a family.

And the plea did not go well, Jorah intervened; sensing her temper flaring. "This is not the place, and it is not the time. You want justice, let a proper investigation be completed."

"I will take him from the capitol; you will never have to see him again. But he is my brother, I know him, I know how he felt about Cersei; I know how he was treated by our family. My brother stood accused of high treason before, and he wasn't guilty then…" Daenerys wasn't the only one with a temper.

Jorah stood, she needed to say her piece; his movement was enough to bring the guards who had been watching closely into formation. He saw her shoulders shift and heard the strain in her voice. "Tyrion will get justice according to his crime, but your plea for mercy has been noted."

Jamie murmured his thanks and slid away, and Jorah quickly moved to soothe his wife; this day would not be tarnished for her. "You have not mistreated him, and you do not hold him without cause or evidence."

"The evidence condemns him." Daenerys sighed. "And I cannot even send him to the Night's Watch."

Jorah nodded, that was what she was thinking right now, but she was upset for having been pushed before her guests; pressed for an answer to a matter that was complicated. He knew she could not afford to appear weak, or vengeful; but her actions helped her. None could claim she had acted impulsively, even if they did not like her answers.

"Perhaps there is someone else." Jorah murmured; she did not want Tyrion in the city nor on her council; but the man had served her for several years. "Lady Arya will know more of this matter than any of us and she has no cause to lie for him. Ask her of that night, perhaps there is another way."


	21. Chapter 21

The Ironborn, with their tempers adjusted by their time in the dungeons swore fealty to their new Lady, and Commander of the Westerosi Navy two days later, Daenerys watched from the Iron throne, having stood Yara on the steps and dragons soaring beyond the windows; none refused. While named to her counsel Yara Greyjoy would spend little time in the city, sailing first for Pyke to re-establish her home and then to establish the shipping routes which would provide for the Ironborn people, for while they did not sow they would not rape or raid either.

A ship with a few of her own men, volunteers from the Unsullied primarily, had already left for the North to garrison on Bear Island with her in-laws; Lady Lyanna Mormont had the men and the task of ensuring the new laws were kept. She liked the young woman's matter of fact approach, the raven she had sent promptly returned an invitation and a slot in their harbour for the royal ship.

Perhaps in time she would go and see the place that raised such strong warriors, her husband and his cousin only two examples, it was not such a long trip by sea. Daenerys suspected there would be a lot of memories for Jorah there, and she knew not all would be good; but it was his home and their child should know it.

The city still thrummed with life and excitement, many of the nobles and their households were still in the capitol and local businesses were doing quick trade; but for the first time she knew of, all knew where their next meal would come from. And as Daenerys climbed the wall, Drogon and Rhaegal had landed as soon as she put a foot on the stairs, she watched the Unsullied hauling a man down towards the dungeons; not all chose to celebrate in the right way.

She frowned, the city was swelling as people poured in from the outlying areas as the promise of soup kitchens and shelters spread, under careful supervision men and women were being given jobs staffing them, a small allowance and food their payment; but it was proof she needed to expand the project and quickly. Her guards hung back as she approached the dragons, Rhaegal trying to be first to greet her only for Drogon to snap at him; then innocently lowering his huge snout for her to stroke it.

Daenerys lay a hand on the black snout, but reached out to touch Rhaegal as well, her husband was becoming protective now that he knew she was pregnant; but somehow her sons seemed to sense it as well. And Jorah had nothing on Drogon, who had leaned into her hand until it slid away and she laughed, leaning the whole of her body onto his snout, feeling his hot breath blow through his nostrils as he sniffed at her. His wing tips rested on the walkway, wings folded against his side and Daenerys only paused a moment, his invitation clear; and in a few moons her body would be too ungainly to hope to ride at all.

Climbing his folded wing Daenerys seated herself on his back and found a good grip, Drogon gave her an extra moment and then launched himself up. She urged him out over the city, his wings spread wide as he rode the breeze, gliding low so she could see the streets below. People still looked up uneasily as his shadow passed over them, but when they began to point, seeing that she was on his back they began to cheer.

The city flowed beneath her and she studied the capital, there was a great deal that needed to be done; it was not just a matter of feeding these people. She circled Drogon over a poor area, people were already lined up to a garrison for food; but her eyes roamed over the buildings and streets; and an old crater of rubble at the center.

The sights she had seen stayed with her and that afternoon when she found her husband pouring over the map again, she joined him for a moment. Counselors might prefer the work was left to them, so they could spin the stories for her; but she had no such intentions. Jorah had spent more time out in the city than she had, but he wasn't working with this view; and she knew his attention was currently on her stronghold. The wheel was breaking now, and piece by piece she intended to take it apart.

"The mines have been opened, there is a small shipment on the way here for your personal use, but as word of the war with the dead is whispered around the world dragon glass is becoming valuable." Jorah told her, showing her a report he must have received recently.

"That's good." The mines of Dragonstone had been reopened; men would be well paid for the hard work to mine. They had received their first pay; the smallfolk of her lands would not starve in hovels anymore. Jorah was good at coordinating the work, but it was one thing to do it in her own lands. "Now how do we make other houses find opportunities for their smallfolk?"

"A prominent house needs to follow suit." Jorah murmured.

"Tyrion." She muttered; his brother was already here to plead for him. Jorah winced in sympathy and his hand rubbed her back. "I need to talk to Arya Stark."

"Don't take on too much today." He frowned. "I can go find her."

"No, I'll find her." Daenerys was not tired, and she knew she needed to do this; she needed to deal with Tyrion.

At least now she had tangible reasons to pardon him, and to keep him away from her reign. She did not intend to appoint a new hand; her husband would fill the role as the only man with the authority to speak for her. She would keep her counsel full of voices from all of Westeros, but their opportunities to betray her would be limited.

That her first Hand had betrayed her, would not be forgotten, but he could be used. Jamie Lannister loved him, and being dismissed from the Kingsguard for obvious reasons, meant that he was now Lord of Casterly Rock and the extensive Lannister holdings. Thousands of small folk lived on his lands, and as she had learned in the ill-timed attack on the Rock, the Lannisters were not as stable as they had pretended.

She signaled her guards to fall back as she saw Arya Stark watching what was happening in the training yard; she was safe here. Daenerys watched her with a smile, if anyone questioned whether a girl could be raised as a warrior Arya had silenced them.

"Arya, may I have a word?" She stepped up beside her; they had a little privacy in this corridor.

"Your grace." The teen dipped her head in acknowledgement, watching the practice yard a little longer; she noticed the girl's eyes were fixed on the armourer.

"The night you entered the city, you intercepted Qyburn." She verified quietly. "Had he spoken to Tyrion yet?"

Arya was quiet for a long moment, and Daenerys thought she was going to get the run around; then the teen spoke. "Tyrion was captured and taken to the black cells before he met his sister. Qyburn sent someone to inform Cersei that he had her brother before..."

"He died." She finished the sentence; she had a sense of the girl now; Arya had her own scores to settle. Another prisoner had died that first night, and Jorah had urged her to let it rest; Ilyn Payne had taken Ned Stark's head. "Did you speak to Tyrion at all? Did he ever speak to his sister?"

"The message was for the Queen to meet Qyburn first; she did nothing after." Arya shook her head, and Daenerys nodded, she should feel relieved to know Tyrion had not been given an opportunity to talk; but she felt nothing on that note. Whatever he had intended to do, he had not been able to follow through with his plan and it had changed nothing. Arya and Jorah had infiltrated the Keep and it had fallen; Tyrion had spent the whole of the time in the dungeons.

"Thank you." She murmured, and then she paused; glancing across the yard again. "He is Gendry Baratheon now, he has a house and a title; I am sure your siblings would support your choice."

"I am not a lady, I am…" Arya denied quickly, and she frowned, she had not meant the words to be a slight.

"Do you believe that to be a lady must define who you are?" She asked quietly. "It is a title, one of love and protection that your parents were able to pass on to you, a powerful one if you choose to harness it; but it only defines you if you allow it to be so."

"A lady does not do the things I've done." Arya said quietly.

"Perhaps most don't, and before our time a Queen had never ruled Westeros and Dragons had been lost to this world." She challenged, seeing the young man across the yard watching them as well; did those two know what they had? "We are only limited by what we allow power over us. You are a Lady, born of your father's house, that does not mean you cannot be a warrior; in nature there are no fiercer fighter than mothers protecting their young. But you and I are luckier than most. We know what we are, and we have men willing to support and defend our right to be what we are. I made mine wait years because I believed I must follow the rules; I did not know the value of the bond I had."

"There are many men who would marry me for my position, but only one who was willing to it to stand behind me. I will never wield a sword as he does, or as you do; but on the back of my dragon I can change the tide of a war. And I do it knowing he will champion me." Her eyes locked onto a short blade of dragon glass tucked into the girl's belt. "Who made your weapon?"

Arya's eyes slid across the yard and Daenerys turned to leave, feeling rather content with herself for the first time in a very long time. Perhaps young love would blossom, the two were clearly interested in each other, she suspected the bastard made a lord wouldn't mind if his woman carried a sword; given he was the one arming her.

…

Jorah cut through the corridor, heading to meet the counsel through he expected it to be a rough meeting. He knew what Daenerys wanted to discuss and given the topic had come up many times as they journeyed towards the capitol, he had helped her put it into motion in her own holdings, she would be expecting some plans to be coming together.

Anyone who thought they could push her around or redirect the goals she had built her claim upon would be sorely disappointed; however, he did not want her to be. Jorah had been doing some research of his own, with the assistance of Sam; who might be the only Southern Lord who would support these plans with an open mind.

He paused in the doorway, the rhythmic sound of boots making him look back, Unsullied moving together; Daenerys' guards. His wife smiled as she saw him and Jorah waited for her to catch up, letting her enter the room first; and not missing the way she brushed against his side. The men assembled rose, Jorah pulled back a chair for Daenerys before standing to the side.

Daenerys asked for updates and he listened quietly until Varys spoke, reporting growing concerns for how long the Queen intended to feed the poor. The room tensed as his wife stared at her Master of Whispers, the silence hung in the room as some shifted uneasily.

"I did not free the slaves of Dragon's Bay and let them starve so why would I do that in my home? The poor will be fed as long as they are hungry and cannot afford to eat; but it is our duty to provide them the means to fend for themselves." There was fire in her voice, but it was something she had spoken of long before she sailed West; it was a plan they had spent hours on since arriving in the city.

"The crown will be bankrupt in a matter of months." Varys cautioned.

"The Lannisters have already bankrupted the crown, debts to their own house, and the Iron Bank of Bravos are only a portion of what is owed. But the fault of that is not on the people, King's Landing needs jobs, and infrastructure. Do you know how many wells there are in Flea Bottom? How many homes lay destroyed near ruins of the sept?" Daenerys questioned, her eyes roaming over the men assembled.

"There used to be two." Ser Davos coughed, shifting forward a little, he saw his wife's eyes widen; it was easy to forget the man had grown up in the city. "I believe one was contaminated after the Sept of Baylor was destroyed."

"And how many people does it serve?" She questioned; the man only scrubbed a hand over his face; it didn't need to be said. "Plans have already begun for work on the city, skilled laborers will be hired, but any unskilled position is to be given to a man of this city. I will be making arrangements for cut stone to be supplied soon. I began in my own lands, on Dragonstone some may not have much, but they will have what they need to survive; as their liege it is my duty to see that the opportunity for every person to provide for themselves is offered. Not all can be wealthy, but the poor will no longer be the slaves of this nation."

His wife rose, effectively closing the meeting and as soon as she left men began whispering about giving the poor too much power; oddly Jorah noticed one man was quiet. He lingered, listening to the chatter, unlike these men he knew the deal she had brokered with house Lannister.

Their gold mines might be empty but stone the Rock was built on could be quarried; and he had no doubt they would be looking for other precious metals now. In exchange for Tyrion's life Jamie, as Lord of the Rock, had sworn to support the Queen's efforts for industry and infrastructure, and to wipe debts the throne owed; Tyrion was to go to Casterly Rock and remain there.

The small folk of Casterly Rock would be employed in the quarries, and the supply chains; Jamie had not seemed to put out at the notion. Yet many would be, the nobles did not like empowering the small folk, they liked them poor, meek and desperate; but they would find a fierce opponent in their Queen.

"You approve?" Jorah muttered, eying the man who still sat skeptically, after her declaration he had fallen silent, sitting perfectly still in his seat as whispers raced around him; Varys acted as though he did not hear.

"I do." The eunuch met his gaze slowly, and Jorah was caught by surprise; there was respect in his eyes.

"She will face opposition on all sides." It wasn't like him to agree with Varys on anything, perhaps the man was softened by hearing that his old friend was to be released; though banished from the Queen's presence.

"Of course, she will, the rich like the realm to suffer." Varys seemed to gather himself as he said that, there was a sense of familiarity in his words; as though the man had experienced the suffering. And then he spoke with conviction. "But she will know of any who speak against her."

Jorah caught his arm as he moved to leave; a threat in his voice now. "No children."

With a quick nod Varys was gone, leaving Jorah to consider the strange exchange; he was acting as though he had heard her for the first time. Either way, children would no longer be used as spies for the throne, it was one thing for a man or woman to make such a choice; a child could be manipulated.

…

It was more than a week after the coronation that the city began to settle, the celebration had lifted spirits and people had eagerly grabbed hold of it. As they rode down through the city children ran along beside the horses, trying to peek around the guards, people watched them from doorways and windows. In the harbour she let Jorah help her into a small boat to row out into the bay, Jorah had found where her children had settled. The dragons soared out over the Narrow Sea to fish as they pleased, but on a rocky outcrop outside the harbour her children were regularly offered cattle and sheep.

Since she had told him that his child grew within her Jorah had become even more protective, his hand rested on her back to steady her as the small craft was rowed across choppy water. Comfortable on the boat Jorah stood, indicating huge caves in the cliffs which the Red Keep had been built on; one was Drogon's lair and another Rhaegal's. High above the water, on the far side of the city it was a good place for the dragons to live freely and protect her people.

"They seem content up there, they fly over the sea and up the walls to see you and the cliffs are inaccessible. If any are fool enough to bother them let it be on their own head." Her husband told her as Rhaegal poked his head out of one of the caves and eyed them before launching himself into the air; glinting green in the winter sun.

"They look happy." She murmured as Rhaegal soared over them, it was not easy for dragons to live alongside man; but her children would not leave her. And she enjoyed every moment she spent with them, even as they looked forward to the new addition. Jorah nodded as he took his seat again and she saw him frown as he looked out at the bay; there was a ship dropping anchor. "What do you have this afternoon?"

"I want to speak with Sam before the counsel meeting." Jorah murmured, but he sounded a little distracted now, though he helped her from the boat and then into the carriage before climbing up beside her. "Are you feeling well?"

"I'm fine, I'll come with you." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

Jorah nodded; she didn't miss his worried look as they crossed to the library, but Sam was not there. As Jorah roamed the rows of books, she leaned over the desk to see what Sam had been working on; reading his sloping handwriting.

_Let the blood of the mother and the wife be remembered through the ages; a sacrifice made for all._

_Let the living stand together now and always, for when the cold winds blow south the dead rise to extend the divide._

_They may be thrown back, for they cannot see, but never forget who made them, not all of us fight for peace._

She startled as a bird took flight from the top of a shelf, her eyes narrowed; it glided away as her husband and Sam met in the doorway to speak quietly. Daenerys turned her attention back to the passage; Jorah had recited those words to her a few days before but seeing the words carefully decoded beneath the strange symbols they had first seen months ago in the Northern crypts after a hard-fought battle. The words had been carved into stones centuries ago, perhaps after the first time the dead marched South, in the age when the first men united with the children of the forest to throw them back.

From Sam's research they knew the First Men had battled with the Children of the Forest for many generations, until they united against the dead and built the wall; and gradually the Children disappeared. Many had believed them to be extinct, but tales from the North and the Free folk confirmed that they had retreated to live in the Lands of Always Winter beyond the wall. Sam showed them several documents he had brought South from Winterfell, and a few he had found in the library here; picking through to find the symbols of the Children's ancient language. Those that came from Winterfell were about the old gods and the ancient faith the Northerners kept, while those from the South referenced the magic of the children, and that used to build the wall; but it was far from a complete history.

In a way it was sad, these whispers of a people who had once lived in Westeros, who had worshiped the lands they lived in; but they knew little of their culture. Daenerys thought of the stories her brother used to tell her, the stories of their house and life in Westeros. What stories had the Children of the Forest been told of their ancestors? What kind of life did they long for? Was it so different from what people wanted today?

Words left for the generations that would follow; left by people who did not believe the battle with the dead was over. And they had been right, for this year the war for the throne had waited as the living united once more; but had they won the battle or the war?

**The End**


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